Santa Wears Blue
by Purupuss
Summary: An unexpected visitor drops in on Tracy Island.
1. Chapter 1

_I've been writing Santa Wears Blue for the last two years. Where we holiday over Christmas hasn't got any electricity (see "Painting the Bach") so I ration the use of my laptop. But these last two years I've given myself a Christmas present, on the magical day itself, of an hour of Thunderbirds writing time. This year I decided that it was about time that I got stuck in and actually finished the story. I started in September and, while it's finished, I haven't polished it as much as I would like. But, it's either post now, or wait another twelve months… _

_As usual I can not lay claim to anyone or anything in this story, except for the residents of the town of _ _Puzz__ (and possibly the ORB and the SAVER.) _

_As usual I would like to thank Quiller, D.C. and Calliope for their assistance and ideas. Quiller especially, because it was a photo that she sent to me that gave rise to the story… something that sparked two ideas that I just **had** to write a story about. _

_Any similarity to any persons living or dead is purely wishful thinking on my part. _

:-)

_Purupuss_

**Santa Wears Blue**

_Dedicated to all those people who risk their necks to help others; especially those whose only remuneration is a word of thanks. I hope they all have a merry Christmas and a restful New Year._

**Chapter One**

It had been a long hard rescue, Scott Tracy reflected as Tracy Island sped into view. Called out on December 20th, Tracy Island time, here he was returning on December 24th. Well, actually, it was so late on Christmas Eve, that you may as well call it Christmas Day. He stifled a yawn. He'd managed to catch some cat naps over the last few days, but it had clearly not been enough. He yawned again; Christmas Day or not, he was going to hit the sack as soon as he got home. If he didn't he was pretty sure that by the time Christmas dinner rolled around he would find himself snoring facedown in his grandmother's gravy.

Scott gave a tired grin. He well remembered the excitement of Christmas morning as a child - lying in bed in eager anticipation of the moment when he could clamber out and run into his parents' room with the expectation that it was time to open the presents which lay invitingly under the Christmas tree. Of course, as his younger brothers began to learn of the thrill of getting up early on Christmas morning, Scott had decided that, as the eldest Tracy son, it was his job to ensure that they all stayed in bed until a reasonable hour... That hour usually being ten minutes after he'd ushered the last of them back to their rooms.

Scott yawned yet again and glanced at the onboard chronometer. Somehow even as a young boy, the idea of being up at 12.02am on Christmas morning, especially after being more or less awake for the previous 100 hours, never appealed to him.

His mind wandered back to Christmases past and Scott gave a chuckle as he remembered his younger brothers' steadfast refusal to give up their belief in Santa Claus. Scott had denounced the mythical figure the year his mother had died. In his eyes any world that could take a mother so cruelly from young boys, could not sustain a 'merry old elf' who gave away gifts without expectation of thanks. Despite that belief he could not bring himself to suppress his siblings' seasonal optimism. It was almost a relief when Alan declared at the breakfast table one Christmas morning that he knew who Father Christmas really was because he'd woken during the night and seen the culprit sneak into his bedroom with a full stocking.

These quiet musings had preoccupied Scott's mind so much, that he nearly overshot the island. Hoping that he hadn't woken anyone, he did a u-turn and returned to the swimming pool, swinging Thunderbird One around so that she was on the vertical above her launch bay. He'd done this landing so many times in these last few years, that everything happened almost instinctively and without conscious thought... That was until the impact alarm sounded and the motors cut out. At this point Thunderbird One's computers took control to ensure his survival and the anti-gravitational units kicked in simultaneously with the extinguishing of the landing jets, leaving the rocket plane suspended in mid-air. As he quickly ran his eyes over the control panel Scott was relieved to discover that nothing was amiss. But what had impacted with Thunderbird One's hull?

Not expecting to see anything but a dull glow from the villa, a few Christmas lights, and the stars in the sky, Scott glanced outside.

An elfin face, looking as surprised as Scott felt, slid down the cockpit window and out of sight. It was followed by a creature that appeared to have at least twenty eyes and fifty legs.

Scott blinked, shook his head to clear it, rubbed his eyes and threaded his hand through his hair. He must have been seeing things. It had been a long rescue… He was tired...

He looked at the scanners and cast a searching beam around the perimeter of his position.

Something indistinguishable was moving on the paving stones by the pool.

Scott quickly examined his options. Moving Thunderbird One from its low hover was out of the question. Should he attempt that, whatever or whoever was beside the pool would either suffocate in the exhaust gases, or be burnt to a crisp. From where he was, suspended in Thunderbird One, Scott was powerless. As far as he could see he only had one option. Reluctantly he opened his radio link...

Jeff Tracy had gone to bed as soon as he'd known that Thunderbirds One and Two had safely departed the danger zone. He too remembered his sons' early mornings on previous Christmases, and felt an immense sense of relief that they had all outgrown that stage. Like them he'd had little sleep over the last few days and was looking forward to the opportunity to catch up. He was therefore unimpressed when his oldest son called him at an inhospitable hour on Christmas morning. "What do you want, Scott?" he asked, a trifle snappishly. "It's midnight!"

"I know, Father..." Scott sounded apologetic. "I'm sorry, but I need your help."

The statement got Jeff's attention. While he wasn't beyond asking for assistance when necessary, it was very unusual for Scott to actually_need_ help. He was capable in most of the things he attempted and a request for assistance was highly unusual. "What's the problem, Son?"

"Uh, I'm hovering above the launch bay… The anti-gravity generators have kicked in... I think someone's by the pool."

Jeff frowned. "But everyone went to bed before I did."

"Yes... Well..." Scott was sounding even more unsure of himself. "I don't think it's one of the family. I'd put it down to me being tired, but I think there's something strange there."

Jeff stared at his son's image that had replaced the face of his wristwatch. "Strange? How do you mean strange?"

Scott didn't particularly want to elaborate. He wasn't even sure that what he'd seen was, well… what he'd thought he'd seen. "Um… Father, the generators will only last another ten minutes, and then I'm going to have to start the engines again. If someone is there they are going to be cooked alive."

"All right, Son, don't move. I'll be there in a minute." Jeff Tracy grabbed his robe and hurried out of his room, stopping only to pick up a stun-gun from a hidden cabinet in the hall, which he pocketed in his robe. Then, after he'd grabbed a high-beamed torch from its position in a cupboard, he hurried down the stairs, playing the torch's beam around before him. Silhouetted against the light of a full moon, Thunderbird One was hovering in mid-air like a mystical obelisk, or, considering the date, a modernist Christmas tree.

Jeff heard a noise, a kind of snuffling and scraping, from the side of the pool. "Who's there?" he demanded.

There was a moment's silence. Then... "Um... Excuse me, Jeff... I'm sorry we woke you, but I was wondering... Do you think you could possibly give us a hand?"

His already deep frown deepening, Jeff rounded the edge of the pool. The light from his torch landed on what appeared to be a living pile of fur. Several pairs of eyes blinked in the glare of the beam and then looked away.

"What... Ah... Who are you?" Jeff called, his hand closing around the gun in his pocket. "What are you doing here?"

"I can assure you," the voice replied, 'that you won't need that."

"Tell me who you are," Jeff requested again, tightening his grip on the gun.

He heard the clearing of a throat I the darkness, followed by a soft "Oof…! Will you move your hoof, Dash...?"

"Well?" Jeff shouted.

"I go by many names and aliases depending on where I am," the voice replied. This was not reassuring considering International Rescue's greatest foe's tendency to do just that. "Most people from your part of the world know me by the name of Santa Claus." The mystery man sounded almost apologetic.

"Sure," Jeff sneered. "Now tell me who you really are."

"What's going on out there?" the voice from Jeff's watch sounded anxious. "I've only got five minutes before the engines will start again."

"I think your son is becoming worried," 'Santa' said. "If you could please give me and my team a hand I would be most grateful. I can assure you that none of us bite... Except perhaps Vixen, she can get quite, ah, vixenish at times. But I guarantee that it would only be a love bite."

Aware of the fact that he, and this pile of living fur, were directly in the path of Thunderbird One's rockets, Jeff hurried forward. As his light played over the mystery he could see that it appeared to be made up of several small animals and, at the bottom of it all, a human figure. Deciding to throw caution to the wind, Jeff grasped the body of one of the animals. By pulling gently the animal's legs disentangled from the rest and it slid free. He placed it on the ground and the creature got to its feet and staggered away. Realising that the only safe place for any of them to be, at the moment when Thunderbird One reignited its rockets, was in one of the changing rooms, Jeff picked up the beast, jogged to the room and shut it inside.

"Four minutes," Scott intoned.

Another animal was released and carried into the room. A third managed to disentangle itself and staggered over to the shelter. Carrying the fourth, Jeff let it inside.

"Three minutes."

After Jeff had released two more beasts, another two were able to free themselves. They made their way to the changing room; one limping badly.

"Two minutes."

Jeff picked up the injured animal and carried it into the shelter before returning yet again. The last two bundles of fur appeared to be badly entangled by the antlers.

"One minute."

After a brief tussle to separate the entangled pair, Jeff gave up and tucking one under each arm sprinted for the changing room, hearing footsteps behind him.

"Ten seconds… Nine… Eight… Seven…"

Jeff ran through the door.

"Six… …"

Jeff heard the mysterious voice say. "Okay. We're all safe!"

"Four… Three…"

Jeff slammed the door shut and lent against the door panting from stress and exertion. He heard the automatic lock slide home.

"Two… One…"

Her VTOL jets flaring in the darkness through the window, Thunderbird One slipped down into her hangar.

"That was close."

Jeff turned back into the room. In the light of the bulbs in the ceiling he could now get a clear look at those he'd just rescued. Looking about he realised that he appeared to be in the company of ten minute animals from the deer family and a short… very short… man. The intruder was inspecting his pets' injuries.

Feeling like Gulliver in Lilliput, Jeff looked down on them all. "Who are you?" he asked.

Not only was the stranger very short, he also had snow-white hair and beard, a ruddy complexion, and his shape was what could be described as 'round'. His jacket was red with white cotton trim, as was his hat, his trousers and boots were black, and he had removed a white glove and was running his hand over one of the deer's legs. Trembling, the animal submitted to his touch until he made contact with a tender spot and it flinched; pulling its leg away. "That hurt, did it, Zoomer?" he asked, caressing the injured animal's head. "I'm sorry, my love. I'll see if I can get something for you." He straightened and turned to Jeff and his eyes, though worried, were sparkling behind wire-rimmed spectacles. "It looks like we won't be going anywhere soon until Zoomer's feeling better. Do you think Brains would be willing to look at her?"

"Wha…?" Jeff stared at the man and wondered how he knew about Brains.

"I know your mother's told you many times that it's rude to stare and even ruder to stare with your mouth open."

Jeff shut his mouth. "Who are you?" he repeated for the umpteenth time.

"Santa Claus."

"There's no such person."

The mystery man gave a resigned sigh. "You believed in me once. You were convinced that after you'd set fire to the haystack when you were seven, that I wouldn't visit you that Christmas." The bearded stranger gave Jeff a sideways look. "You were smoking out rats, weren't you? I know it was an accident. You were only trying to help. You were simply at an age when you didn't think things through… and were too young to be left near matches."

Jeff's jaw dropped again. This was a secret that, as far as he was aware, no one else knew. Even 'she-who-knew-everything', a.k.a. his mother, appeared to have no idea who had torched the winter feed. The rats had survived, having fled the conflagration, but the hay, despite his the best efforts of his father and a farm hand, had been destroyed. The farm's few animals had survived that winter only due to the generosity of neighbours. "How'd you…" In shock he sat down.

The little man laid his finger on the side of his nose. "I know all children who are 'naughty and nice', remember? You were a whisker away from being placed on my naughty list."

"But Santa Claus is a mythical character," Jeff protested.

"Who's to say what makes an idea become real?" 'Santa' asked. "If millions of children all over the world believe in something, wouldn't that have some effect? Sometimes it only needs a few people to turn a dream into reality, or…" he looked at Jeff, "just one."

"I don't believe in Santa Claus," Jeff stated, struggling to remain true to his convictions as his eyes told him otherwise. "And I don't know any adults who do."

"Unfortunately," 'Santa' admitted as he turned to examine Zoomer again, "many adults are too narrow-minded to accept my existence." He glanced over his shoulder at the bemused man sitting behind him. "I thought you were more broadminded than that."

Jeff made another attempt to make some sense out of what was happening. "Who_are_ you?"

"Santa Claus. Saint Nicholas. Odin. Sinterklaas. Tomte. Neclaus. Télapó. Mikulás. Kris Kringle. Christkindl. Father Christmas. I'll answer to any of them. I've been them all over the centuries."

Jeff had been tempted to say _and I'm the Easter bunny, _but had held his tongue.

"You mother has brought you up well," Santa continued, as if in reply to the unsaid sentence. "You know not to be rude to strangers…" Zoomer tried to take a step and made a sound that could have been described as a whimper. 'Santa' touched Jeff on the arm. "Please, even if you don't believe me, at least help my animals."

Jeff felt a warm glow that could have been described as a feeling of 'goodwill-to-all' fill him. He was also aware that his watch was vibrating. The signal, a secret alert that Scott was standing by, waiting to come to his assistance, should have gone unnoticed by all about him.

"You'd better answer that," Santa said. "Scott's going to be wondering what's happening out here. We don't want him to worry unnecessarily."

Feeling as if his head was spinning, Jeff raised his hand so he was able to look at his watch face. "It's okay, Son."

"What the heck's going on out there?"

"We have unexpected visitors," Jeff admitted.

"What! How…!"

"Don't worry about that," Jeff insisted. "We've nothing to worry about." Even as he vocalised the words a small part of him wondered if it were true. "Ah… Would you get Brains? Ask him what he knows about the medical care of, um…" he hesitated, realising that whatever he said was going to sound distinctly odd. "…Ruminants," he finished.

"What!"

"Please, Scott. Do it. It'll all become clear soon. We're coming inside now."

"We?!"

Jeff lowered his arm. He carefully picked up Zoomer and felt the animal stiffen at his touch before relaxing as if it realised that it wasn't in danger. "What do you want to do with the others?" he asked.

"If Thunderbird One isn't going to be launching again soon, and if it's all right with you, I'll let them walk around outside; they'll welcome the opportunity to stretch their legs." Santa chuckled. "They don't often get the chance to experience a tropical island."

Awkwardly, as he juggled Zoomer so he could reach the door handle, Jeff unlocked the changing room door. They stepped outside into a starlit world where silhouettes of palm trees graced the horizon and the Tracy villa loomed over them like a monster lurking in the shadows.

The three of them mounted the steps that led to the lounge, and as they grew closer to the living room they became aware of raised voices. "Were you sleeping on the job?!" Scott was demanding.

John was on the defensive. "No, I was not!"

Scott glared at his brother's portrait. "Then how do you explain the fact that we've got visitors without your knowledge?!"

"I don't know!"

"You must have been asleep!"

"I swear, Scott, I haven't slept for the last ten hours. And neither have you! Otherwise you wouldn't be yelling at me!"

"Yes, I would. You've compromised security."

"_I've_compromised security?! This is from the guy who was in such a daydream that he nearly overshot the swimming pool… Ha!" John jeered at Scott resultant expression. "See, I was watching you. I wasn't asleep."

"Boys…" Jeff said quietly. "You can continue this discussion later... I thought I asked you to get Brains, Scott."

"I did. He's getting dressed." Scott stared at the animal in Jeff's arms. Zoomer, for her part, had stiffened again at being brought inside into the presence of angry strangers. "What's that!?"

"A miniature reindeer," Santa said. He reached up and patted his pet on the nose. "It's all right, Love."

"Who's that?!" John exclaimed.

Jeff cleared his throat. "Ah… Santa Claus." His two sons stared at him as if he'd gone mad.

Santa turned to them. "Now that we all know each other, I should like to offer you an apology, Scott. I should have been looking where I was going. I hadn't planned on, ahem," he gave the young man a wry grin, "dropping in on you."

Scott shook his head. "Father," he pleaded. "Please explain what's going on."

"This is Santa Claus," Jeff explained again. "I don't know why he's here. He hasn't told me yet."

"Santa Claus," Scott repeated.

"Yes."

"As in Father Christmas?" John enquired.

"Yes."

"John," Scott turned back to the video of the space monitor. "Would you tell Brains to hurry up, please? We've got more than sick animals to worry about."

As if on cue, Brains entered the lounge, his laptop computer at the ready. "What, ah, animal are we d-dealing with, Mr Tra…" He saw the reindeer in Jeff's arms. He saw the diminutive figure standing at Jeff's side. He turned to Scott and saw that he was still in International Rescue uniform and that Operation Cover-up and not been activated. "Wh-Wh…"

"Don't ask, Brains." Scott shrugged. "I haven't got a clue."

Jeff made the introductions. "This is Santa Claus." Brains stared at his employer as if he were a few presents short of a stocking.

"Zoomer has hurt her leg," Santa explained. As if she needed to prove him right, Zoomer began to wriggle, but it was only when her antlers dug into his shoulder and banged against his jaw that Jeff put her down. Santa grasped to stop her from trying to escape. "I'm afraid that we hit Thunderbird One. I would appreciate it if you could help her, Brains."

"And Z-Zoomer is a…?" Brains peered at the stranger short-sightedly.

"Reindeer."

"Y-Y-You hit Thunderbird O-O-One?"

"_That_ I can confirm," Scott agreed.

Brains was delving into the laptop's memory banks. "_Reindeer - Rangifer tarandus… Semi-domesticated caribou…_" he muttered. "_Shorter and stouter… Outer coat of long, hollow guard hairs are at a density of 5,000 per square inch… Undercoat a fine "woolly" hair at 13,000 per square inch…_"

John gave a low whistle. "Impressive." He received a glare from his elder brother.

Brains looked at the blonde. "The th-thick coat inhibits radiation and allows them to lie on snow without m-melting it and getting w-wet." He resumed his inspection of the laptop. "_Large hooves… act like snowshoes… helps them walk on snow._"

"Very useful on a tropical island," Scott sneered.

Brains ignored him. "_Both male and female grow antlers… Bulls shed antlers between December and January… Steers and non-pregnant females shed antlers between February and April. Pregnant females shed antlers late-April and May_." He glanced at Zoomer, taking in her impressive head ornamentation. "Ah, what sex is, ah, Zoomer?"

"Female," Santa offered. "None of my reindeer are pregnant. I would not subject them to such a long trip if they were."

"Female…" Brains mused, and continued reading. "_Adaptations such as preventing radiation and lack of sweat glands for heat conservation in winter may cause stress in warm weather._"

"That could be a problem," Jeff admitted. He looked at his watch. "It'll be dawn in about four hours. Then the temperature will rise to the high 20s. We'll have to see if we can get Zoomer fit enough to travel before then." Then he frowned. "Did you travel in a sleigh?"

Santa nodded. "Yes, I did."

Jeff's frown deepened. "I don't remember seeing it out there." His two sons shared a look that was a mixture of concern and bemusement. "It's probably crashed into Thunderbird One's launch bay."

"In which case it'll be toast by now," Scott noted.

"Oh, dear," Santa exclaimed. "It might take me some time to repair it."

Zoomer was examining the Christmas Tree as if she were hopeful of finding something edible in its foliage and Santa gently pulled her away. Brains shut his laptop and walked over to the little creature. "D-Does she bite?"

"No, it's Vixen who bites, but they're only love bites." Jeff winked at Santa as John and Scott exchanged incredulous glances.

With evident trepidation, Brains drew closer to the little stranger and the beast that he was restraining. "G-G-Good, ah, Z-Zoomer." He knelt by the reindeer's trembling flank. "N-Nice r-reindeer… I-I w-won't h-hurt you."

Santa laid a hand on Brains' shoulder. "Zoomer knows that. She won't hurt you either."

Brains smiled as a feeling of warmth and friendship flooded his system. "I know." He began his examination of the reindeer's leg.

"Now that Zoomer's being looked after, hadn't you better give Virgil and Thunderbird Two the all clear to land, John?" Santa asked.

"What?" John checked his scanners. "Uh… Yeah…"

---F-A-B---

Being a third slower than her sister ship, Thunderbird Two was only just drawing close to Tracy Island. Virgil stifled a yawn. "Nearly there, Guys."

There was a muttered response from the passenger seats behind him.

"Buckle up."

Someone got more comfortable, but Virgil didn't hear the clicking of safety harnesses. He briefly toyed with the idea of putting Thunderbird Two through some fancy manoeuvre to wake his brothers, but then decided against it.

"Thunderbird Five to Thunderbird Two."

"Thunderbird Two," Virgil responded. "Go ahead, John."

"You're nearly home?"

"Yep. I guess big brother's already in bed?"

"No…" John appeared to be subdued. "He's still awake. So are Dad and Brains."

"Couldn't they wait to open their presents?" the voice coming from behind Virgil's shoulder sounded drowsy.

"They could have at least waited until we got home," Alan grumbled as he stretched.

"I don't think they've been thinking about Christmas," John stated. "…At least not Christmas presents…"

Virgil frowned. "What's wrong?"

"We've got visitors."

Virgil immediately banked Thunderbird Two into a sharp turn. "Visitors! Why didn't you warn me!? We've got a visual on Tracy Island!" There were slithering sounds as his brother's failed to stop themselves from sliding down the steeply sloping floor. "Sorry, Fellas," he called back over his shoulder.

"There didn't seem to be much point warning you," John admitted. "This guy's seen Thunderbird One and seems to know a lot about us."

"He's_seen_ Thunderbird One!" Now that Thunderbird Two was back hovering on the horizontal, Gordon had come to stand at Virgil's shoulder. "Who is he?" He shared a worried look with Alan, who, now fully awake, was standing beside him.

"He, ah…" John had the ashamed air of someone about to make a confession. "He claims that he's Santa Claus…"

"What!"

"He says he's Santa Claus," John repeated.

"And you believe him?" Alan asked.

"Dad appears to… And Brains seems quite happy to help fix up his reindeer…"

"His what?" Three brothers stared at the face on the screen in open astonishment.

"I've only seen one. She's called Zoomer and she's hurt her leg. There's at least one other called Vixen…"

"Vixen?!" Gordon exclaimed. Then he gave his elder brother a sideways look. "Are you sure you haven't been O.Ding on the halluagen again, John?"

"No, I haven't… And I never have! There's this guy who barely reaches Dad's knees and he's got reindeer and he says he's Santa Claus!"

"How did he get to the island?" Virgil asked. "And why?"

"He said that he'd come in his sleigh and that that's currently in pieces on the floor of One's launch bay."

"Why?" Virgil asked again.

"He crashed it."

"Obviously an experienced flyer," Gordon snickered.

"I don't know why he's on Tracy Island," John admitted. "I just know that he wasn't registering on our scanners. If he hadn't run into Thunderbird One…"

"Wait a minute, John," Alan held up his hand. "What did you say?"

"He ran into Thunderbird One. Scott said he was landing through the pool when the impact warning started blaring and the anti-gravs kicked into life. Next thing he sees is this face sliding down the viewport."

Gordon looked at Alan. "He didn't get enough sleep over the last four days. He's hallucinating. _He's_ been on the halluagen."

"Yep," Alan agreed. "I knew I should have flown Thunderbird One home. Scott's overtired."

"You know full well that if you'd tried to take over Thunderbird One you would have had your spine ripped out as you climbed into the cockpit," Virgil said. "Besides, he'd had enough power naps to sustain him until he got home. I checked his reactions and he checked mine…"

"That is not reassuring," Gordon interrupted.

"You weren't worried," Virgil retorted. "You slept the whole way."

"Of course. I want to be awake to see what you've given me for Christmas."

"So, what are we going to do, John?" Virgil asked. "Head off to Mateo?"

"You may as well come home," John replied. "'Santa' appears to be more worried about his reindeer than anything else at the moment. You should be able to stash Thunderbird Two away without his seeing you."

---F-A-B---

"What's everyone doing up?" an elderly, feminine voice was heard in the hallway. "I know it's Christmas morning but to be opening your presents at one a.m. is ridiculous! What are you doing, Jefferso… Oh!"

Jeff saw that his mother's startled gaze had fallen on the unexpected visitor. "Let me introduce you to Santa Claus."

"Santa Claus…?"

Santa stepped forward with his hand outstretched. "Lovely to meet you again. It's been a long time."

Grandma smiled at the stranger as a warm, giving, feeling flooded her. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Claus."

"Please. Call me Santa."

"Thank you, Santa."

"What!?" Scott stared at their grandmother who seemed perfectly willing to accept the identity of the intruder. "Grandma, did you hear who this guy says he is?"

"I'm not deaf, Scott. Of course I heard."

John had come back on line and Scott moved closer to the video's microphone. "Call out the men in white coats," he whispered.

"The cavalry's on its way," John whispered in reply. "Thunderbird Two's just landing. I've given them a heads up."

"Good."

"What's wrong?" Grandma moved closer to the injured reindeer.

"Sh-She hurt her leg on Th-Thunderbird One," Brains told her. "When she f-flew into it."

Grandma turned and scowled at her eldest grandson. "Weren't you watching where you were going?"

"I didn't see it, ah, him, her, them!" Scott protested. "I was trying to land."

"I'm afraid it was my fault, Mrs Tracy," Santa confessed. "We were distracted."

Grandma humphed. "Out of my way, Dear," she said to Brains, who was delving again into his computer's database. "I've dealt with animals before."

"But not reindeer," Jeff reminded her.

She gave him a scathing look. "This end eats. That end doesn't. What more is there to know? I'm sure the whole principle is similar to 'Ol' Bessie's' rheumatics." After a quick examination she made her diagnosis. "The leg wants strapping up and the poor thing needs to rest." She tickled the reindeer under the chin and it responded by nuzzling her cheek. "I'll put one of my poultices on it." She turned to Santa. "But she won't be leaving here until late tomorrow."

Santa inclined his head gravely. "That is fine. I don't have to be anywhere."

"You don't…" Scott stared at the man. "But what about today?! Christmas day?! Your biggest day of the year! Remember?" He gave Santa a sideways look. "That's if you are who you say you are…"

"Scott…" Jeff growled.

"What does your reindeer eat?" Grandma asked. "The poor thing's probably hungry."

Brains was, yet again, diving into the database for answers. "L-Lichen, grasses, sedges, shrubs… Highly nutritious p-plant matter."

"Does the island have 'highly nutritious plant matter' suitable for reindeer?" Jeff asked.

"The rest of the team should be all right," Santa reassured them. "I'm sure that Zoomer would prefer what I had in my sleigh."

Scott turned to John. "I can't believe I'm hearing this conversation."

The crew of Thunderbird Two arrived. They'd made a point of coming through the complex the long way round, so that the access way in the lounge wouldn't be exposed. They entered the room warily.

"Ah!" Jeff beamed at them. "Good, you're home. Come over here and meet Santa Claus."

No-one obeyed him. The three youngest Tracys stared at the elderly stranger with suspicious eyes.

Santa, seeing their indecision, was the first to react. "Ah! I remember you all! I could never forget the Tracy sons." He stepped forward in greeting. "Alan and Gordon…" He shook Alan's hand and Scott was dismayed to see his brother relax and smile at the stranger. "I don't know how many times I shifted the pair of you off my 'nice' list and onto the 'naughty' one… especially you, young Gordon," he prodded Gordon playfully in the kneecap.

Instead of displaying the expected negative reaction, Gordon gave a goofy grin. "I had to give you something to keep you busy all year."

John, Scott and Virgil all shared dismayed glances.

"But," Santa continued, "Somehow, you always managed to worm your way back onto the 'nice' list just before Christmas." He chuckled. "You were such a handful!"

"You're telling me," Jeff agreed.

"Virgil," Santa turned to the chestnut-haired young man, who took a wary step backwards. "I've still got that picture you drew for me when you were six. Do you remember it? It was of me and my reindeer and we were flying above your home. You had quite a talent, even at that age."

"Ah," Virgil said, nonplussed by the unexpected compliment. "Thanks."

"It's always a pleasure to see how those children I corresponded with grow up," Santa burbled on. He extended his hand in greeting.

Virgil glanced at Scott and read the warning in the latter's face. He took another step back, "ah…" he held up his hands. "I'm sorry, ah, but, um, it was a hard rescue and I haven't had the chance for a proper wash. That is… um… my hands! My hands are dirty. I wouldn't want you to get dirty too."

Santa shifted his gaze to Scott and then back to Virgil. "Interesting," he mused. Then he smiled. "I also remember, Virgil," he continued as if he hadn't been snubbed, "that when you were seven you wrote and asked me to bring you a grand piano," he indicated the white instrument that dominated one corner of the room. "I see you got your wish."

"He had to work hard to earn it," Jeff said. "But he deserved it."

"I'm sure he did."

Grandma had been making some notes. "I'll need some of the herbs out of Kyrano's greenhouse," she announced. "But I don't want to take them without his permission..."

"I'll get him, Grandma," Scott offered, seeing an opportunity to warn the Kyrnaos before they met the island's visitor. "Ah, Virg…" He gave his brother a meaningful look. "Don't you want to wash your hands?"

"Huh…? Yeah… Yes, I do," Virgil nodded emphatically. "I'll come with you, Scott."

The pair of them escaped into the hall and Scott sighed. "Well, we've lost Gordon and Alan."

Virgil stared at his brother. "How do you mean 'lost'?"

"I've noticed that every time 'Santa' touches someone, they fall 'under his spell'," Scott stated. "At least you had the brains to keep out of the way."

"Well, that's what you wanted me to do, wasn't it…?" Virgil turned to look at the door to the lounge. "What's going on in there?"

"I don't know, Virg, but I don't like it. I don't trust that guy."

"Scott…" Virgil sounded unsure of himself as he turned back to his brother. "I know this is going to sound stupid, but…" he hesitated.

Scott frowned. "What?"

"Are you sure he's not the real Santa?"

Scott stared at his brother. "What?!"

"I mean, I don't see how it can be… We both know that Santa Claus is a mythological creation… But… He's right. I did send Santa a picture that I'd drawn of him flying above our house when I was six. How could anyone have known about that?"

"Logic, Virg," Scott told him. "There are plenty of pictures in the lounge that have obviously been done by you; no one else has your initials. An adult who is an artist was probably a child who liked to draw. And what else would a six-year-old writing his wish list to Santa Claus draw, but a picture of the sleigh over the kid's house, so that Santa knew where to come!"

"Oh…" Virgil almost sounded disappointed. "That makes sense… But what about the piano? There isn't a sign saying 'property of Virgil Tracy' on it. Any one of us could be a pianist. I might not like music!"

"The fact that you're a musician is not exactly a state secret," Scott reminded his brother. "This guy knows enough about us that he must have done some research on the family. A quick check of our school records, find a couple of concert programmes, and anyone could theorise that the piano was yours. That's the thing about these con-artists," he continued. "They use generalities and obvious facts, make a few shrewd guesses, and before long have you thinking that they know more about you than they actually do."

"I guess…" Virgil agreed. Then he sagged. "You're right, of course." He rubbed his eyes. "I'm tired and I'm not thinking straight. I thought I was coming home to go to bed, not to walk into a rerun of "The Nightmare before Christmas"!"

"Of course I'm right. Who in their right mind would fly around the world just to do something good for a complete stranger and not expect to be paid for it?"

Virgil gave Scott a wry smile. "Is that a rhetorical question or do you want me to give you an answer?"

"Rhetorical."

"Because I can name someone… And I'm not going to say Santa Claus."

"You can…? Okay, I'll bite," Scott acquiesced. "Who?"

"I'm looking at him."

Scott stared at Virgil. Then he managed a dry chuckle. "I'll give you that one." He pulled on his brother's arm. "Come on, I want you to wake Kyrano."

"Me!" "Why me?"

Kyrano, during his waking hours, was a quiet, mild-mannered man who wouldn't hurt a fly without first apologising to it. At night, when he was asleep however, it was a different matter. Back in the early days when he'd first come to stay with the Tracys, there was one occasion when Tin-Tin, then a young child, had been startled awake. Already frightened by her dreams, she been slow to remember where she was and had begun to cry. It had been one of those nights when, shaken by his own fears for the future and torn by memories of the past, Jeff had been unable to sleep, and had heard her. Having had no experience with young girls he'd gone to get her father.

Jeff had tried to wake Kyrano gently, but the latter had reacted with a martial blow that had sent the former flying across the room, nearly destroying a chair and leaving Jeff with bruises that had lasted for days. When he was finally awake and had realised what he had done, Kyrano had been full of apologies, but without a real explanation. This had happened many times over the years and the only reason for this irrational behaviour that the Tracys had been able to come up with, was that something or someone in Kyrano's dim, dark, distant past had wounded the gentle Malaysian. Kyrano, the private man that he was, had never enlightened them as to who or what that could be.

"Why should I be the one to wake him?" Virgil demanded.

"You've got a softer, less authoritative voice than me," Scott stated. "He might not react as strongly to being woken by you."

"You mean you'd rather I was sent flying than you."

"Just get on with it, Virgil. I want to get that Santa fellow out of here before he finds out too much."

Virgil scowled at his elder brother and then knocked on the door. "Kyrano…" There was no reply from inside the room. He knocked again and then called louder. "Kyrano, it's Virgil."

Nothing.

Scott nudged his reluctant brother. "Go in."

"It's his private room! I can't just barge in there."

"You're not barging. You've asked permission and he hasn't heard you. What if there was an emergency? You wouldn't be pussyfooting around. You'd be in there pulling him out of his bed."

"Correction. I'd be tackling the emergency." Virgil gave a sigh. "Here goes…" He slid the bedroom door open. "Kyrano…." There was no sound as he stepped over the threshold… "Kyrano…"

---F-A-B---

"Boys," Jeff looked up from where he was stroking Zoomer, "would you mind going down to Thunderbird One's launch bay and getting some feed from Santa's sleigh?"

Gordon gave an agreeable nod. "Sure, Dad. Coming, Alan?"

"You betcha. It's not everyday that you get to see a sleigh that can fly."

"You won't be able to miss it," Santa explained. "It's a large sack with 'reindeer feed' stencilled on it."

"I'm sure we can manage that," Alan grinned. "Come on, Gordon."

---F-A-B---

"Aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!"

Virgil fled back to where Scott was standing just inside the door and pushed his brother forward like a shield. "Kyrano! It's me! Virgil!"

"Mister Virgil?" Kyrano, standing by the bed in attack mode, dropped his hands to his sides. "I am sorry," he rubbed his face before looking at the young men standing before him. "Why did you wake me?"

"You tell him why, Scott," Virgil demanded. "My nerves are shot." He released his grip and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" Scott asked him.

"I've done what you asked." Virgil held out his hands. "I'm supposed to be having a wash, remember? It'll look a bit odd if I go back to the lounge still dirty."

"Okay," Scott agreed. "Be careful."

Kyrano watched the brothers with a frown of concern. "Mister Scott? What is wrong? Why must Mister Virgil 'be careful'?"

"There's a guy here who says he's Santa Claus," Scott explained.

"Santa Claus?" Kyrano repeated. "Father Christmas?"

"Yes, that's what he says and he's got something that makes people believe him."

"What does Mr Tracy say?"

"He was the first one to go under. There are only you, me, Virgil, John and Tin-Tin left, and I wanted to warn you before you went out there. Whatever you do, don't let him touch you! Okay?"

Kyrano was looking concerned. "Yes, Mister Scott."

"Because it's when he touches you that he gets you."

"Yes, Mister Scott. I will be careful."

"Good." Scott smiled in relief. "Now, the second reason why we woke you up is because one of his reindeer was hurt when he flew into Thunderbird One…"

"Mister Scott?" Kyrano looked at his friend as if Scott hadn't heeded his own warning.

"I know," Scott held up a hand, "it sounds impossible. I'll explain it all later, but when I was landing, 'Santa' and his 'reindeer' crashed into Thunderbird One. One of the reindeer, Zoomer…"

"Zoomer?"

Scott shrugged and continued talking, "hurt its leg. Grandma wants to make one of her poultices, but she needs some of your herbs."

"Then she shall have them." Kyrano bowed his head. "No animal, real or of imaginary form, should be allowed to suffer."

---F-A-B---

All traces of exhaust gases had been filtered out of Thunderbird One's launch bay, but the strong odour of burnt wood and metal remained.

Alan and Gordon walked over to where a small pile of charred fragments lay strewn over the floor beside the launch platform. "Scott's really done a number on it," Gordon said as he crouched down to examine the debris.

Alan picked up a relatively unscarred section of what could have been a runner before it had been toasted. "What a shame," he said as his finger traced an intricately carved panel. "Look at the workmanship in this!" He held it out for Gordon's inspection.

"Santa and his reindeer were lucky they didn't fall down here with it."

"I'll say." Alan studied his brother who was picking through the remains. "How are you feeling, Gordon?"

Gordon looked surprised at the question. "Umm…. Relaxed… Happy…? At peace with the world? Why?"

"Were you feeling like that before we met Santa Claus?"

"No, I wasn't. I was feeling jaded, even though we'd just had a successful rescue. But when we started talking to Santa… It was like I was experiencing something… wonderful."

"Yeah," Alan agreed. "I feel like that too." He spied something. "Ah, ha!" He pounced on an object that was wedged behind a blast-proof cabinet.

"What have you got?"

Alan dragged out a fat sack. "Reindeer feed." He examined one side and then flipped it over to check the other. "That was lucky. It hasn't split and it's hardly scorched."

"Good." Gordon picked up a burnt piece of wood. "I know that 'Down-Under's' they tend to cook outside on Christmas day, but I didn't realise that the tradition extended to barbequing Santa's sleigh."

"Do you really think that guy's Santa?" Alan asked.

"I don't know who else it could be," Gordon admitted. "He looks like what you'd expect Santa to look like."

"He's elf sized," Alan agreed.

"He's got reindeer. You've got their feed."

"He's got…" Alan stood and nudged the remains with his toe, "…he_had_ a sleigh."

Gordon nodded, his eyes lighting up as a sly grin stretched over his face. "And he flew into Thunderbird One…"

"What?" Alan asked. "What are you going to do?"

"Nothing," Gordon said innocently.

Alan crouched down again so he was at his brother's eye level. "Come on, Gordon. What?"

"Nope. I'm not gonna tell you. I might not even be able to do it."

"You're not going to trick me in some way are you?"

"Now would I do that?" Gordon asked; an expression of pure innocence on his face.

"Yes, you would."

"Don't worry, Alan," Gordon chuckled. "I don't have you in my sights this time."

Alan relaxed. "Then who have you got 'in your sights'?"

Gordon patted his brother on the shoulder. "Do you want me to spoil all the fun?"

"Just so long as I get to stay on Santa's nice list. You can go back on his naughty one if you want."

"Oh, I don't think there's any chance of that. I'm just planning on spreading some Christmas joy about…"

---F-A-B---

"What's taking Kyrano so long?" Grandma wondered. "I want to get this poor thing fixed up." Zoomer nuzzled her hand and she gave it an affectionate tickle under the chin.

"Scott's probably still deciding on the best way of waking him without endangering life and limb," Jeff reminded her.

"Ah, yes," Santa said. "That poor man had experienced much in the way of sadness and betrayal before he met you, Jeff. He still struggles to deal with it in his dreams."

Jeff gave Santa a quizzical look. "Do you know why he's so aggressive when he's woken suddenly?"

"I do." Santa inclined his head. "But it is not my place to elucidate. One day, when he is ready to talk about it, Kyrano will explain everything." He stroked his reindeer.

---F-A-B---

Scott waited impatiently in the hallway for Kyrano to get dressed. When the Malaysian finally emerged the retainer was full of apologies.

"That's okay, Kyrano," Scott replied. "Now, before we go back into the lounge, would you mind telling Tin-Tin what's going on? I would have done it myself, but I think it would be better if you went in there."

"Yes, Mister Scott," Kyrano said gravely and once again Scott found himself alone, pacing up and down the hallway.

---F-A-B---

"Here's the feed." Between them Gordon and Alan dragged the sack into the lounge. Zoomer perked up and sniffed the air. She struggled to her feet.

"Sh-She seems to be hungry," Brains said.

"Jeff," Santa looked up from where he was restraining the reindeer. "Wasn't someone going to collect John from Thunderbird Five yesterday?" John, who'd been maintaining a silent watch over those in the lounge, started when he heard his name mentioned. "Before you all got caught up in your rescue?"

"Yes, that's right," Jeff confirmed.

"I'm sure that he would like to be able to spend at least part of Christmas day with his family. Isn't that right, John?" Santa beamed at the man framed on the wall.

"Ah, yeah… Yes, I would," John admitted.

"So, please don't let us and our little dramas upset your Christmas plans," Santa begged.

Jeff didn't take too long to reach a decision. "Alan, did you get much sleep on the flight home?"

"A little."

"A little!" Virgil had entered the room in time to catch the conversation. He'd had the quickest of washes and had discarded his grimy uniform for the clothes he'd been wearing before the rescue. "I could hear him snoring before Thun…" he glanced at Santa, "we'd left the ground. He slept the whole way home." He stepped to one side to let Scott, Tin-Tin and Kyrano enter the lounge.

"Ah, Kyrano, Tin-Tin, you're here," Jeff said. "Come and meet Santa Claus."

Kyrano made a formal bow in the general direction of those clustered around the animal, and Tin-Tin gave a nervous smile as she tried to pat her hurriedly brushed hair into place. "What is it you require, Mrs Tracy?"

"I've made a list…" Alan leapt forward and helped his grandmother to her feet. "Thank you, Dear," she said before picking a piece of paper off the desk. "Here's the list, Kyrano. Are there any problems?"

Showing no emotion Kyrano read through what she had written. "There will be no problems, Mrs Tracy. Will you assist me, Tin-Tin?"

"Yes, Father." Tin-Tin glanced at Santa Claus and, suppressing a delicate yawn, followed her parent out to the greenhouse.

"We're going to get John," Jeff announced. "Alan, you and I will take Thunderbird Three. You two," he pointed at Scott and Virgil and continued before they had a chance to argue, "are to get some sleep. You both look dead on your feet. Gordon, will you carry Zoomer through to the sickbay?"

"Sure." Gordon slid his arms beneath the little animal and picked her up. "Will you come with me, Santa?"

"Of course." Following in Gordon's footsteps, and accompanied by Grandma and Brains, Santa favoured Scott and Virgil with a benign smile as they took a hurried step backwards to give him a wide berth. "Your father is right," he agreed. "You do look tired. Sleep will make you both feel much more relaxed."

Scott shared a worried glance with Virgil.

When the room had been vacated by all non-International Rescue personnel, Scott, John and Virgil took the opportunity to accost their father. "What are we going to do about him…?"

"That guy's a security threat..."

"He already knows too much about us…"

"Whoa! Boys!" Jeff held up his hand. "This is Santa Claus we're talking about."

"Santa Claus!?" Scott exclaimed. "You know that's impossible! Santa Claus doesn't exist! What has this guy done to you? Why can't you see he's doped you in some way?"

"Sometimes you just have to accept the unexplainable," Jeff said. "Yesterday I would have agreed with you. Today, I know I was wrong. There _is_ a Santa Claus."

"Dad's right," Alan nodded his agreement.

"But Dad…" John protested.

"Are you ready to come home, John?" Jeff asked.

"I will be by the time you get here. But don't you think…"

"I think that the sooner Alan and I are allowed to leave, the sooner we'll all be able to enjoy Christmas together," Jeff said before turning back to his eldest Earth bound sons. "Now I want you two to get some sleep. You want to be awake to enjoy Christmas and I want you fresh enough to be able to do your duties if International Rescue's services are required. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir," Virgil mumbled. He stifled a yawn.

But Scott wasn't willing to give up so easily. "Why don't I take 'Santa' and his 'reindeer' and fly them to…"

"Scott! You're too tired to fly anywhere," Jeff growled. "You're not thinking straight."

"I'm not thinking straight?"

"Get some sleep, Scott!" Jeff commanded. "We'll see you in the morning."

"But…"

The sofa descended through the floor of the lounge. Its doppelganger took its place.

"Now what do we do?" Scott demanded. "Everyone's losing it!"

"I'm going to go and pack," John replied. "The sooner I can leave Thunderbird Five, the sooner I'll be home to back you up. I'll work on Dad and Alan on the homeward flight." He reached out for the off switch. "Call me if I can do anything." His video feed reverted back to the normal, static photograph of himself.

Virgil yawned again. "I'm going to bed."

Scott rounded on him. "You're what?"

"Scott, I'm tired. Like you, I've been operating heavy machinery and holding lives in my hands for a large portion of the last four days. If I don't get some sleep soon I'm going to fall over!"

"Virgil…"

"If you want me on top of my game to help you fight this 'Santa Claus' when John gets home then you'd better let me sleep now… And I'd advise you to do the same." Virgil favoured his brother with a tired smile. "Don't worry. I'll lock my door and I'll keep my watch on so you can buzz me if you need me."

"Okay." Scott sounded reluctant. "I'll call you when Thunderbird Three gets home."

"Good." Together they walked out of the lounge and into the hallway leading to their bedrooms. "Get some sleep, Scott. You need it as much as I do." Virgil sped up. "G'night."

"Night, Virg…"

The next event happened so quickly, and so innocuously, that neither brother had a chance to react. "Virgil," Santa stepped out of the shadows and placed his hand on the younger man's forearm. "I'm afraid I've lost my way. Would you mind directing me back to the sickbay?"

"Sure, not a problem, Santa. This way."

Scott watched in dismay as his brother smiled down on the little man and then guided him down the corridor.

"Ah, there you are, Santa," Tin-Tin beamed at him as she hurried along the hall. "We were wondering where you'd got to. Father was asking if you would like him to make you a cup of tea." Scott's stomach felt as if it had dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of his knees.

"That sounds wonderful, Tin-Tin. Thank you." Santa turned, and looked back at the lone figure in the hall. "Are you joining us, Scott?"

"Ah, no..." Scott kept his distance. "I was heading for bed. You were too, weren't you, Virgil?"

"I was planning to," Virgil replied, looking happy and relaxed. "It's been a long couple of days."

"Then you go," Santa insisted. "Tin-Tin will show me the way."

"It would be my pleasure," Tin-Tin said. "Good night, Virgil. Good night, Scott."

"Night, Honey," Virgil said cheerfully.

"Night," Scott mumbled.

Santa beamed at him. "Merry Christmas, Scott."

Left in the hallway, deserted by the others, Scott felt very alone in his own home. He retreated to his bedroom, locking the door behind him. He briefly toyed with calling John, but then decided that there was nothing his brother could do until he returned home. Feeling restless Scott wandered over to the window and looked out into the early morning darkness. Down by the swimming pool something with four legs moved, scratching itself on the steps of the diving board.

A sudden realisation hit him and, stopping only to check the setting on his gun and to grab a headlamp torch, a blanket, and the pillow from his bed, Scott headed outside. It was warm in the still night as he pulled one of the pool's deckchairs closer to the edge of the pool, so it was facing the villa. A curious reindeer appeared to watch his activities. "Shoo!" he said. "Go away."

The reindeer made a strange noise and stamped its foot.

"Don't get annoyed with me," he told it. "This is my house and I can do what I like. And that includes making sure that your master doesn't make off with any of our secrets." He lay down on the deckchair and pulled the blanket over him. Unsatisfied with the chair's position he got up again and dragged it further into the shadows.

"What on Earth are you doing?"

Although he was startled by the unexpected voice, Scott maintained the appearance of remaining calm. "I thought you had gone to bed."

Virgil stepped out into the moonlight. "I was going to, but I don't feel so tired now. I happened to look out the window and saw you down here and wondered what you were doing." He took in the pillow and blanket. "If you're planning on waiting up for Santa Claus," he chuckled, "you're too late. He's already here."

"I'm not waiting for him to arrive. I'm here in case he tries to leave." Scott settled into his makeshift bed.

"Huh?" Virgil pulled a seat closer to his brother and sat down.

"He knows a bit about us and International Rescue," Scott admitted. "But the only thing he's actually seen is where Thunderbird One's launch bay is concealed. If he tries to get to her, I'll be ready for him."

"If he tries to get her? What are you talking about?"

"I'm here to stop him if this 'Santa' guy tries to leave with some of our secrets."

"In Thunderbird One? You're crazy!"

Scott resisted the temptation to state his opinion that he was the only one who wasn't. "You do realise that half an hour ago you would have been on my side."

Virgil appeared surprised. "I didn't realise that we had 'sides'."

"Half an hour ago you agreed with me that Santa was a fictional character. Half an hour ago you believed that that guy up there was an impostor."

"Half and hour ago I was wrong."

"What did he do to you, Virgil?" Scott threw his blanket off and sat up, swinging his legs around so he was sitting on the side of the deck chair. "Show me your arm…? No, the other one."

"My arm? I'm a leg man myself…" Virgil watched in bemusement as Scott rolled up the sleeve, donned a headlight torch, and examined his forearm closely. "What _are_ you doing?"

Engrossed in his inspection of his brother's skin, Scott didn't look up. "Looking for needle marks."

"What!" Virgil snatched his arm back. "I resent that!" He got to his feet.

"Wha… No… Virgil, come back!" Scott pleaded to his brother's retreating back. "I didn't mean that I thought that you'd…" He stood. "I'd never think…"

Virgil stopped walking, turned back and scowled at his brother. "I was in a really good mood and now you've ruined it!"

"But I didn't mean it like that! Honest, Virg. Don't be mad at me." Scott ran his hand through his hair, removing the torch from his head in the process. "I'm sorry. I'm tired and I'm not making myself clear and you're tired and you're misunderstanding me." He sat down on his chair.

"Then just what did you mean?"

"I meant that I think that that guy who says he's Santa Claus has drugged you and everyone else."

Virgil hesitated a moment and then returned to his seat. "Why would you think that? Why would Santa Claus want to drug us?"

"I've been watching him tonight… I mean this morning, and no one's believed that he's Santa Claus until this guy has made physical contact with them. He touched Brains on the shoulder, shook Alan's hand, prodded Gordon on the knee…"

"Prodded Gordon on the _knee_?"

Scott nodded. "And grabbed you by the arm… Just there." He pointed to the spot. "What did you feel when he grabbed you?"

"What did I feel?" Virgil repeated and grasped his own forearm as if he was trying to re-enact the event. He frowned in thought. "Happy."

Not expecting this reply, Scott sat back. "Happy?"

"Yeah, happy. Kind of Christmassy."

"Christmassy? I don't understand."

"You know that feeling you get when you wish a stranger a 'Merry Christmas' and then they smile and wish you a 'Merry Christmas' in return, and you think that just maybe you've made their day just that little bit brighter? Or that feeling you get when you help a mother who's got an armload of Christmas shopping and is trying to keep control of three rambunctious kids…"

"I'd help her at any time. Not only Christmas."

"I know and I would too…" Virgil conceded. "Or that warm feeling you get when you give someone a gift, and you see their face light up when they open the present because it's something that they really wanted. That kind of feeling. That's the feeling I got when Santa touched me. That's the feeling I've had all morning until you…" Now downcast he looked at the ground.

Scott leant forward and laid his hand on his brother's arm. "Believe me, Virg; I'm really sorry. I didn't want to hurt you and I'd never believe that you'd do anything stupid like take drugs. I only want to find out who this guy is and what he wants from us… Look, maybe this is all a dream and we'll wake up tomorrow and it'll be Christmas Day and we'll have forgotten all about it."

"If this is 'all a dream', which of us is asleep?"

Scott shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well, I hope it's me, because I seem to be enjoying it a lot more than you are." Virgil looked at his brother with an earnest expression. "Scott? Why can't you accept that 'this guy' is Santa Claus?"

"Because there's no such thing as Santa Claus. He's a myth. A legend. He might have been based on real people centuries ago, but he doesn't exist now."

"What would it take to convince you?" Virgil asked. "Use your own senses! We've got a man, who's so short that he's got to be an elf, looking after one of his reindeer in our sickbay at this very moment!"

"I know."

"He flew into Thunderbird One!"

"I know."

"You saw him fall. No one else did: only you."

"I know."

"Alan and Gordon found his sleigh!"

"I know."

"A sleigh! What would a sleigh, designed for snow, being doing on a tropical island?"

"I don't know."

While the conversation had been going on, one of the tiny reindeer had decided that it needed to cool off. It had eyed up the swimming pool, before, with an almost unbelievable leap, jumping in. It floundered about for a while and managed to swim back to the side, where it pawed at the wall, unable to climb out. Virgil took pity on it and lifted it out of the water with one hand, placing it gently on the ground. It nuzzled him in a gesture that could have been interpreted as a thank you and then skittered away, stopping only to shake its coat dry.

"Hey!" Scott complained as a fountain of water drenched him. The reindeer made a sound as if it was laughing and skipped into the darkness.

Virgil chuckled. "And you've just been soaked by a reindeer."

"I know! I know!" Scott exclaimed.

"Well?"

Scott opened his hands out in an expressive gesture of defeat. "Yes, Virgilia. There is a Santa Claus. Are you happy now?"

Virgil laughed. "Happier." He stood from where he was still crouching by the pool. "I'm off to bed and if you've got any sense you'll do the same thing. You don't want Father to find you out here. That would not make for a merry Christmas…"

"Yes," Scott conceded. "You're right."

"Night, Scott."

"Night, Virg." Scott watched his brother climb the stairs. "Hey, Virg!"

Virgil turned. "What?"

Scott smiled. "Merry Christmas!"

Virgil's face lit up. "Merry Christmas, Scott!" Whistling a Christmas song, he resumed his trek up to the house.

Scott watched him go. Then he stood and picked up his blanket. He weighed it in his hands…

Then he sat back down on the deckchair and pulled the blanket over him. "Sorry, Virgil, but 'Santa' is not going to get his hands on Thunderbird One. If anything so much as moves near this pool, I'll have it!" He puffed up his pillow, placed his gun beneath it, and settled back…

He was asleep before his head touched the pillow…

_To be continued…_

_Reindeer facts from the University of Alaska Reindeer Research Program web site._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

His bags ready by the exit hatch, the automatic transfer programme nearly complete, his fingers tapping impatiently on Thunderbird Five's console; John waited for Thunderbird Three to arrive. He'd already made up his mind that as soon as the orange spaceship docked, he'd initiate the final transfer sequence and get out of there. To him, getting home to save his family was more important than confirming that International Rescue was still operational.

In the hours since Scott had told him about the intruder on Tracy Island, John had gone through Thunderbird Five's records at least five times, trying to find out when and how 'Santa Claus' had managed to get near the island without radar or scanners picking him up. He'd found nothing. No rogue blips, no strange signals, nothing broken or interfered with. Everything appeared to be intact and working as it should.

John sat back in his seat and contemplated the console. He'd done exhaustive checks of the files of the last 24 hours and found nothing; maybe he hadn't gone back far enough? 'Santa' seemed to know enough about his family and International Rescue to arouse the suspicion that maybe he'd been living on the island, spying on them all, for some time.

A tiny man and his reindeer living, undetected, on a small island? John shook his head and groaned. The whole idea was crazy.

---F-A-B---

Deciding that these people could be trusted, even if they were a little odd compared to those she was used to, Zoomer had submitted to having her injured leg bandaged and was now curled up on the soft sickbay bed, her muzzle buried deep into her feed.

"Santa? Aren't you worried about not being able to deliver all your gifts this year?" Tin-Tin asked.

"Ah-ha! I wondered when someone was going to ask me that," Santa beamed. "The world has changed, but people still expect Santa Claus to behave as he always did. Centuries ago, when the world's population was so much smaller, it was easy for me to go from house to house leaving gifts and candy," he winked, "or sometimes coal. But now… Now the population has grown so big that, in general, I leave the distribution of gifts to others." He chuckled. "Do you honestly think that I've got a factory at the North Pole creating all the latest toys and gadgets? I'd either be bankrupted by the license fees; or, if I made unauthorised copies, I'd be stung by lawsuits from every toy maker in the world. No, now I save my gift giving for those who need it. They may not recognise it as a gift from Santa Claus, but I know that they will still appreciate it. By Christmas Day, with the help of a little magic, my work is often done."

"Mr Claus?" Kyrano made a diffident bow. "And have you done your work for this year?"

"Most of it," Santa smiled. "And that which I still have to do, can be done with others' help. I don't have to rush away." He patted Zoomer. "Not until she's ready to go."

"I-I have often wondered, ah, Santa" Brains began. "Why did you ch-choose a _rangifer tarandus_ to pull your sleigh?"

"I didn't originally," Santa Claus admitted. "For centuries I was assisted by a flying white pony, or a team of horses, or I would simply get about under my own steam. Then "A Visit from Saint Nicholas" came into popular culture, and I thought it was an idea that was magical enough to be worth trying. I started out with the expected eight reindeer: Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Dunder, and Blixem, but they found it a bit of a struggle pulling me and a full sleigh, or even the empty one, so over the years we've added others to the team."

"Have you got a Rudolph?" Gordon asked. "He was always my favourite."

Santa laughed. "I thought he might have been. We've tried to breed one with a red nose, but haven't succeeded. So, short of creating one using genetic mutilation, we settled on a buck whose nose is slightly pinker than the rest. The last few years we attached an artificial, glowing nose to his face and it worked wonderfully well… Until this morning when he got a case of the sneezes over Tracy Island. That's why we ended up flying into Thunderbird One. " He gave a rueful laugh. "He sneezed the fake nose off and it went sailing away to goodness knows where. There'll be reports of flying saucer sightings for weeks now."

"How many reindeer have you got?" Tin-Tin asked. "You've mentioned ten so far."

"Only the ten. Zoomer," the reindeer looked up upon hearing her name and regarded him with a chaff-covered muzzle, "is the latest addition. Aren't you, my pretty?" Zoomer licked her nose and then tackled her feed again.

"And she seems to be happy," Grandma noted and hid a yawn behind her hand. "Excuse me." Then she looked at her watch. "Lordy! Look at the time."

"I am sorry that we are interrupting your beauty sleep, Mrs Tracy" Santa apologised. "Not that you need it."

Grandma giggled. "You're a sweet talker, Santa Claus. I'd be betting that you've got Mrs Claus wrapped around your little finger."

Santa burst out laughing at the idea and his belly wobbled like the metaphorical bowl full of jelly. "No, no, no," he chortled. "It's the other way around. It's my good lady who has me under her thumb leading up to Christmas. We have a strict timetable and she makes sure that I stick to it!" He mimed cracking a whip, laughed, and his belly wobbled again.

It was a sight that Gordon couldn't get enough of. "An honest politician, a kind lawyer and Santa Claus were walking down the street and saw a $20 bill. Which one picked it up??"

Brains, ever the enquiring mind, responded with the expected question. "I-I don't know, Gordon. Wh-Which one?"

"Santa, of course!" Gordon responded. "The other two don't exist."

Santa went into the promised fits of laughter and his belly wobbled again.

"Speaking of who's real and what isn't," Gordon patted Zoomer. "Where's the rebel without a Claus?"

Grandma stared at him. "What?"

"That's the definition of someone who doesn't believe in Father Christmas. Where's Scott? You do realise that he doesn't believe you're you, Santa?"

Santa gravely bowed his head. "I am aware of that and I am not worried. He will learn the truth when the time is right. There is no hurry."

"Last time I saw him he said he was going to bed," Tin-Tin said.

"Having barricaded the door and booby-trapped his room," Gordon snickered. "He does _not_ like not being in control."

"He's tired and he's not thinking straight," Grandma reminded him. "How much sleep did he get over the last four days?"

"Not a lot," Gordon admitted. "But that won't worry him. You know he doesn't need much."

She snorted. "He says he doesn't need much. But, mark my words, one day it will catch up with him and then he'll be sorry. I only hope it doesn't happen somewhere where he puts himself or others at risk."

"He's not stupid, Grandma," Gordon said. "He knows when he's a liability… And if he doesn't, you'll tell him."

"None of your lip, my boy. Else I'll have Santa put you on his naughty list."

"Too late." Santa laughed.

"Awwww," Gordon stuck out his lower lip. "I haven't been that bad this year."

"This year, no…" Santa mused. "But you've got a lot of catching up to do for the last 20-odd."

Tin-Tin giggled. "Doesn't his International Rescue work help to counteract all that?"

"My dear," Santa regarded her with mock solemnity. "You don't know the half of what this young man got up to when he was younger. He had a volume of misdemeanours all of his own." He held his fingers five centimetres apart. "It was this thick!"

Tin-Tin giggled again at her friend's downcast face. "Never mind, Gordon." She gave him a playful poke in the ribs. "I still love you."

"Can I tell Alan you said that?"

"If you do I'll ask Santa to keep you on your naughty list. You'll be getting coal in your stocking for the rest of your life."

Santa's belt buckle rode up and down in laughter

"Mr Claus," Kyrano bowed. "It is getting late. Permit me to make up the spare bedroom for you."

"Thank you, Kyrano," Santa said. "But I shouldn't like to put you out, and I don't want to leave Zoomer alone in a strange place. I would be quite comfortable sleeping in this chair." He patted the armrest.

"Mr Tracy would not hear of a guest being treated in such a way," Kyrano replied. "I shall be glad to make up the other bed in here. You will be quite comfortable."

"I don't want to cause you any trouble."

"It is no trouble."

"Thank you, Kyrano," Santa repeated.

Gordon's eyes were twinkling. "Trying to sneak onto his nice list at the last minute, huh, Kyrano?"

"It seems that you have left a vacancy, Mister Gordon." Kyrano bowed. "I should be glad to fill it."

Gordon, stunned, watched the retainer leave the room to get the linen. "Did Kyrano just make a joke? I must be dreaming. Pinch me someone!"

He should have known better than to say that…

---F-A-B---

"Thunderbird Three to Thunderbird Five. Merry Christmas, John"

John leapt for his microphone. "Thunderbird Five," he acknowledged. "You've made good time, Alan."

"I've been getting tips from the master," Alan replied. "And we're in a hurry to get back so the whole family can enjoy Christmas together... Preparing to dock."

"F-A-B."

As Thunderbird Five worked its way through the final programme, John waited impatiently next to his bags for the communications hatch to slide open. The computer had just beeped confirmation that all control had been transferred to Tracy Island, when the door opened and his father stepped through. "Merry Christmas, John."

For a moment John forgot his worries as he and Jeff shared a bear hug. It wasn't often that the men of the Tracy family displayed the affection that they felt for each other, but when they did it was warm and genuine. "Merry Christmas, Dad."

"It's been a while since I've been up here. Mind if I have a look around?"

John really wanted to get home, but nonetheless gestured towards the space station's interior. "Be my guest… But don't look behind the fridge! That's where Alan keeps his girlie magazines."

"Do not!"

John grinned. "Found a new hiding place, have you?"

"It's no good looking for any of John's blue movies," Alan called after his father. "He's got them password protected on his computer."

Jeff laughed and passed out of the control room.

Alan gave his brother a playful punch on the shoulder. "Merry Christmas, Johnny."

"Merry Christmas, Kiddo. It's good to see you again. How was the trip? Did you get pushed out of the captain's seat?"

"Nah. He was too happy flying down memory lane and telling me that flying in a modern spaceship like Thunderbird Three meant that I didn't know I was born. When 'he was a boy'," at this point Alan doubled up, pretended to lean on a walking stick, and added a quiver to his voice, "and was flying to the moon, they had to be strapped into their seats lying down and the spaceship vibrated that much that they thought their fillings were going to fall out!" Alan straightened and winked. "That was when I asked him where they stored the coal for the steam engine."

John laughed. It wasn't often that he got to spend longer than a couple of hours with his youngest brother, and he was looking forward to spending some quality time with him. He was also looking forward for the chance to expose just who this Santa Claus character was. "I see you've been having fun at home."

"You mean Santa?" Alan's eyes shone. "I never believed that he really existed, but he does!"

"Sure…" John drawled.

"He does!" Alan protested. "He's for real! I know Scott doesn't believe, but he's an old Scrooge. I don't think he's ever believed in anything magical."

"He did once," John recollected. "He kept on writing to the North Pole saying that the only thing he wanted for Christmas was a flight in Santa's sleigh."

"Well, he ruined his only chance when he trashed it with Thunderbird One. He might be the one giving Santa a flight home."

"Alan," John tried to inject the air of reason into the conversation. "You know there's no such thing as…"

"There is!" Alan interrupted.

"Alan…"

"Wait till you get home and meet him, John! Then you'll believe."

"Right…" John said, unconvinced. He heard a sound and turned. "Are you ready to go, Dad?"

Jeff had re-entered the control room and was gazing through one of Thunderbird Five's view-ports down onto the planet that they all called home. "I can see why you like it up here so much, Boys."

His sons stood at his shoulders. "Yeah," Alan agreed. "That's quite a view. I never get tired of it. It's always changing, but always stays the same."

"It's the one memory that I treasure above all the others of my time as an astronaut," Jeff admitted. "Seeing that little blue-green ball in the sky was what my career was all about."

Surprised, Alan looked at his father. "I thought you became an astronaut for the excitement, challenges, and the chance to be the first to use all that state-of-the-art technology."

"I did originally. I didn't even think about what I'd see when I got into space. I just wanted to, to coin a phrase, boldly go where no man had gone before… But that first day I was working on the moon, doing something…" Jeff waved away the memory as if he was chasing away a fly, "I don't remember what, now; and I turned, and there on the horizon was this luminous orb… It looked small enough that I could have picked it out of the sky and held it and protected it from the worst that humanity was throwing at it and each other. It was an epiphany moment for me. It made me realise how lucky I was," he gave his sons a reflective smile, "and how far away I was from those I cared about."

"Come on, Dad; let's go home." John rested his hand on Jeff's shoulder. "You can bring me back here after the holidays and stay here for as long as you want." He favoured his father with an engaging grin. "The boss has given me Christmas Day off and I've already missed out on a quarter of it. I don't want to miss out on any more!"

Jeff chuckled. "You'd better ask 'the boss' if he can spare you for a couple more days off in lieu… Come on, Boys, let's go. Have you switched Thunderbird Five over, John?"

"Ages ago."

"Got your bags?"

"Yep." John picked up his two cases. "I'm ready, Dad. And I'm too far away from those I care about. I'm ready to celebrate Christmas!"

---F-A-B---

"Want another, Harri?"

Harri looked up from where he was balancing a plate of food and bottle of beer on his knee. "Huh? Oh, sorry, Cal. No thanks. I'll have to be leaving soon. Got to be home before Santa arrives, you know?" He winked at his friend, who laughed.

"So, where are the kids?" Cal asked.

Harri cast his eye around the room full of happy people enjoying the community Christmas Eve party. "Dunno. I think they were playing outside with all the others. Jeanne'll know." He ladled more cranberry sauce onto his turkey and took a contented mouthful.

Harri and Jeanne's three children, along with most of the others who lived in the small mining town, had indeed been playing outside in the frosty air. It was cold, as it tended to be during northern hemisphere Christmases, but the weather report had stated that there was no chance of snow.

Ranging in age from five to 13, the children chased each other about the playing field behind the community hall until Jenni Teeasi, the youngest of the group, tripped and fell. More startled than hurt by her accident, she burst into tears and was comforted by her 12-year-old sister. "It's okay, Jenni," Tara soothed as Jenni gave a big sniff. "You haven't hurt yourself, have you? You've got so many clothes on you can't have. You're as round as a snowman."

Jenni looked up at her with big eyes and sniffed again. Then a giggle escaped. "Snow man?"

"Yes," Tara nodded. "You make a ball of snow as big as this," she spread her arms wide, "and then you put a smaller ball of snow on top," she drew her arms in closer, "and then you make a smaller ball of snow…"

"And then a smaller ball of snow?" Jenni echoed; eager to find out what you did with this tower of snow.

"No, only two or three," Tara amended. "And then you get a carrot and you use it to make a nose…"

Jenni frowned. "Nose?" She pressed a mittened hand against her own nose and continued speaking into the thick wool. "But I've got a node."

"No, silly. Not on you. You put it into the top ball of snow and that makes the snowman's nose. What else do you think you would need?"

"Eyes?" Jenni's own eyes were now gleaming brightly, her earlier tears forgotten.

"That's right. What could you make eyes out of?"

"Um…" Jenni's forehead creased in a frown. "'Tatoes?"

Tara laughed. "Maybe. But they might be a bit heavy, mightn't they? They would sink into the snow. Think about that song 'Frosty the Snowman'. What do they say his eyes were made out of?" she began to sing "_Two eyes made out of..._"

"Coal!" Jenni cheered. "Just like Parda digs out of the ground!"

"Just as well your father's not a gold miner then," 13-year-old Darrell Doak jeered. "_Frosty the Snowman, had two eyes made out of gold. They sank into the snow so white, and left a dirty great hole._"

Tara hushed him as Jenni put her hands on where several layers of clothing masked her hips and glared up at him. "Tara's telling ME a story! Not you."

"Awww," he teased. "Tell me a story, Tara. Please, pretty please? A fairy story about elves and pixies and Santa and…"

"Shut up, Darrell," Tara snapped, worried that he'd destroy her little sister's Christmas innocence.

"Why?" Darrell taunted. "Hey, Jenni. I've got a story for you. Me and Clive," he indicated the eleven-year-old standing beside him, "just heard it on the news. Santa's sleigh crashed and all the presents have fallen into the sea. He's not going to make it this year. He drowned."

"Yeah," Clive agreed, "and so did all of the reindeer."

"Clive!" Tara scolded, but Jenni's lower lip was quivering again. "Don't listen to them, Jenni. They're teasing you. Of course Santa is coming this year."

"Yeah," Darrell sneered. "And reindeer might fly... I'm sick of hanging around here waiting for the olds. Me, and Clive, and Liam, and Steffen are going for a walk up the hill."

"You can't do that," Tara protested. "Our parents told us not to leave the playground."

"They won't know," Darrell scoffed. "They're too busy partying. They'll be ages yet"

"Where're we goin'?" Liam, Tara and Jenni's brother who was looking forward to his ninth birthday in the new year; looked wide-eyed at the prospect of adventure.

Darrell puffed his chest out. "Blaque Hill."

"Blaque Hill?" Tara exclaimed. "But the old mine's up there!"

"Yep." He sneered at her concerned expression. "What's the matter, Tara? You scared?"

"No," she defended herself. "But the old mine's dangerous. Parda said so."

Jenni looked between the older boys with a solemn expression on her face. "The mine's dangerous," she echoed.

Clive idolised Darrell, often at the expense of his own skin. "They only say that because they don't want us to see the ghosts," he said.

"Ghosts?" Liam looked nervous. "Like the ones in that book you lent me?"

"Kinda." Darrell gave a grin. "They say that a whole lot of miners went down there one Christmas Eve and never came back. They died waiting to be rescued. When they found them, one still had his flute in his hand as if he'd been playing it."

"Couldn't International Rescue save them?" Steffen was Darrell's six-year-old brother and was fascinated by anything to do with that mysterious organisation. He often proclaimed that he was going to join them when he grew up.

"Don't be stupid," Clive sneered. "International Rescue weren't around then. This was years and years ago."

Tara said nothing. She'd heard the story too and it never failed to give her the creeps.

"They reckon, on Christmas Eve," Darrell continued, "when the night's cold and clear like tonight, if you go into the mouth of the old mine, you can hear the ghost of the miner playing his flute." He whistled and mimed playing the instrument. "Right before the ghost grabs YOU!" Twisting his face into a terrible expression, he made a lunge at little Jenni. She jumped back in fright and then laughed. "Well, you two can stay here like a pair of scaredy cats, but we boys are going up to the mine. Right?"

Jenni pouted. "I'm not a scaredy cat. I'm a girl!"

"Yes, you are," Clive taunted. "You're a scaredy cat. You're too little and too scared to go to the mine."

"Not too little!" Jenni stamped her foot. "Not scared! I'm coming."

"No, Jenni," Tara caught her arm. "We're not allowed. You're not going either, Liam."

Clive and Darrell made sounds like a chicken.

"I don't want to see a ghost, Darrell," Liam whimpered.

"You won't see him," Darrell told him. "It's only when you hear him that you should be scared. If you hear a flute, then run." Liam still looked unsure of himself. "What's the matter? Are you a scaredy cat like your sisters?"

"Am not!"

"You're a girl!"

"Am not!" Liam stuck his chest out. "I'm braver than you are. I'm going right into the mine."

"Liam!" Tara took hold of his arm to hold him back. "You can't!"

"Leggo!" He pulled free. "You're not my boss, Tara. You're only a girl."

"You can't go," Tara persisted. "What would Parda and Marda say? You can't get into the mine anyway. It's fenced off."

"There's a hole in the fence," Darrell informed her. "I'm going now. Who's coming with me?"

Tara was left standing alone in the field.

---F-A-B---

Alone with Zoomer in the sickbay, as everyone else had retired to bed, Santa Claus stood on the chair so he could reach his pet and gently stroked the reindeer. "I am sorry that you were hurt," he apologised. "But it is necessary for me to be here. I have work to do."

Zoomer nuzzled him as if accepting his apology.

"This will be a Christmas that International Rescue will never forget," Santa told her. "I must make sure that that is for the right reasons."

Zoomer placed her chin on the injured leg that stuck out at an awkward angle, and closed her eyes in preparation for dreaming reindeer dreams…

---F-A-B---

Scott was dreaming that he was trapped. He was tied to a table by straps that encircled his torso and legs, precluding any escape. Out of the shadows his nemesis stepped forward, leaning close so that Scott could feel the other's warm breath and whiskers on his face. Something cold was held against his cheek…

It was the flaring roar of Thunderbird Three's returning rockets that woke Scott up. He struggled back to wakefulness before realising that there were aspects of real life that had wormed their way into his subconscious musings. A weight on his chest was making it difficult to breathe and his legs were pinned down. He opened his eyes and found himself eye-to-eye with a hairy face.

The reindeer that had curled up on his chest sneezed, covering Scott with a fine mist.

"That's disgusting!" Scott complained. The reindeer sneezed again. "If you're the one who went swimming and you've caught a cold, then that's your fault. Don't give it to me." The reindeer blinked at him. "Get off!" He raised a hand and the animal took umbrage, jumping down to the ground as Scott wiped his face on his sleeve before levering himself up onto his arms and staring down to where two reindeer were draped across his legs. "Get lost…" He kicked out; waking the pair who stood to give themselves a disgruntled shake as he took the opportunity to pull his legs out from under them. "I thought you didn't like heat."

Now that he was able to sit up straight, Scott looked around. His blanket was piled up on the ground on one side of his deckchair and was being used as bedding by two more reindeer, while, on the other side a sixth had claimed his pillow. "I hope you're all comfortable. With all these cushions available to you; why did you have to use my stuff?"

The beast on his pillow looked at him as if to say, "Why are you talking to us? We're only reindeer," and then settled down to sleep again.

"Listen to me! I'm trying to hold a conversation with dumb animals!" Scott checked his gun, painfully aware that if he'd been in a deep enough sleep to have been ambushed, robbed, and trapped by six reindeer, then he'd been exposed to more human dangers. He stood, stretched, and turned to discover that his 'chair had been claimed by four tiny creatures. "Would you jump into my grave as quick?"

One of them sneezed at him.

"And you," Scott replied. He took a step backwards and felt something squish under foot. "Aw, no…" he examined the sole of his boot. "Can't you use a communal latrine somewhere away from our home," he complained, scraping the heel on the cobblestones before he washed his boot under a tap and finally climbed the steps to the lounge.

The light switched on as he reached the room and he sat on his father's desk to await the arrival of his family.

He was rubbing the sleep from his eyes when the sofa, laden with three Tracy men, rose up into the lounge.

Jeff frowned at him, "I thought you were going to get some sleep."

Scott stifled a yawn. "I did."

"In your uniform?"

"And your boots?" Alan added.

Scott looked down. He'd forgotten that he hadn't changed since the rescue. "Ah, yeah. I slept outside."

"Outside?!"

"Is that why your boots are wet?" Alan asked. "Grandma's not gonna be happy when she sees you've tracked water all across the carpet."

"She'd be less happy if I'd tracked through what was on there before I washed it off."

"Why'd you sleep outside?" John asked.

"I was making sure our guest didn't try to get to Thunderbird One."

"Ah."

"Scott," Jeff said patiently. "Santa Claus is not a threat to International Rescue."

"I know that," Scott retorted. "Because he doesn't exist! But we can't say the same for that guy; whoever he is."

"He's still here then?" John asked.

"I guess so. Last I saw of him they were heading to the sickbay to look after that reindeer of his."

"Do you think it's a real reindeer?"

"I don't know what it is."

"Boys," Jeff interrupted. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

His sons stared at him. "What?" John asked.

"What day it is?"

Scott frowned. "The 25th?"

Alan made a sound of exasperation. "It's Christmas Day!"

"Yes," Jeff confirmed. "Aren't you going to wish each other a merry Christmas?"

"Oh… yeah…" Scott flapped his hand in some form of acknowledgement. "Merry Christmas, John."

John's "Merry Christmas, Scott," was just as unenthusiastic.

Alan gave an exasperated sigh. "What's wrong with you guys? You're hopeless! Well, I'm off to bed. Maybe we can get a couple of hours sleep and then we can open our Christmas presents. Leave the two Scrooges to their own devices, Dad. If they're awake then Santa won't visit them. If they miss out on the fun then that's their problem."

"He's right. Get some sleep, Boys," Jeff advised. "You wanted to spend Christmas with the family, John, so you'll want to be awake to enjoy it."

"Yes, Sir."

The four men walked down the hall to their sleeping quarters. "I hope someone's made up a bed for Santa," Jeff said.

"I'm sure Kyrano will look out for him," Alan replied. "If he doesn't then you can guarantee that Grandma will."

"True," Jeff conceded. "Good night, Boys."

"Night, Dad," Alan replied. "Night, Scrooges One and Two."

"Night, Tiny Tim," John rejoined.

Jeff and Alan disappeared into their bedrooms, leaving John and Scott standing in the hall. Scott pulled gently on John's arm. "Come into my room for a moment."

"This 'Santa' guy's really brainwashed them, hasn't he?" John noted when the door had closed behind them. "What are we going to do?"

"I've been trying to come up with a solution. But…" Scott shrugged. "If we only knew what drugs this 'Santa' guy uses then we'd have a chance of coming up with an antidote. All that I know is that it only seems to take a single touch and you're under his control."

"A single touch?"

"A single touch," Scott confirmed. "Even through the material of our uniforms. Whatever you do, don't let him touch you. Don't even let him brush up against you. Don't let him _near_ you!"

"Okay, I'll be on my guard." John thought for a moment. "Is Virgil in bed? Maybe he's got some ideas."

"He's no help," Scott growled. "He's gone over to the dark side."

"What?!"

"He was ambushed," Scott explained. "'Santa was lying in wait and grabbed him just after Thunderbird Three took off."

"Oh, heck," John moaned. "So, what are we going to do? We can't do nothing."

Scott looked at his brother's face and saw the dark rings under his eyes along with other signs of exhaustion. "How much sleep did you get over the last few days?"

"Slightly more than you; but not much more."

"Go to bed, John," Scott suggested. "But lock your door! Maybe one of us will dream up a solution. If not, at least we should be awake enough to think clearly."

"F-A-B."

---F-A-B---

"Jenni… Liam…" Tara stood at the mouth of the old Blaque Hill mine and peered inside, straining her eyes against the darkness. The adit, the tunnel that had been dug into the hillside, revealed nothing. "Come out," she called.

There was no reply.

"Jenni…" Tara called again, and took a step inside. "Liam…"

The only sound was the gentle wail of the breeze that wafted across the mouth of the mine.

As her eyes adjusted to the gloom Tara became more confident. Following the path created by the iron rails that still disappeared deep into the mine, she continued her search. The only sound, apart from the wind, was her footsteps as she stepped from sleeper to sleeper.

_Wheeeeeeeeeee_

Startled by the sudden whistling noise, Tara gave a scream and stumbled, falling over something cold and hard. In the darkness she heard laughter.

"Woooooooo."

"Darrell!" Tara exclaimed.

"Scaredy cat," he teased. "Didya think the ghost was going to get you?"

Tara didn't bother to answer his question. "Where're Jenni and Liam?"

"Here, Tara," Liam called. "Look! We've found Santa's sleigh." There was an accompanying giggle from Jenni.

Darrell turned his torch to where the voice had come from and Tara could see three grimy faces peering at them from out of a coal wagon. "Look at you!" she exclaimed. "Marda's going to be so mad! You're covered in coal dust. She's going to want to know how you got dirty and you'll have to tell her you've been in here. Then you'll be in trouble!" She reached over the side of the wagon and pulled her little sister out. "Give me your hand, Liam."

Deeper in the mine there was an ominous creaking sound of rusty metal on rusty metal. Darrell flashed his torch into the darkness, only just managing to keep the light steady. "Who's there?"

"It's me," a voice piped up. "Look what I've found!"

Curiosity overcoming fear, the children followed the voice until they were at the end of the adit driven into the hillside. There, his face framed by the rusty ironwork of a cage that miners from days gone by had used to descend into the mine's depth, Clive was grinning. "Look!" he exclaimed. "The lift!"

"Wow!" Liam ran forward and pushed on the gate. "I'm going down into the mine."

"It might not be safe," Tara warned. "Get out of there, Liam, Clive."

"Scardey cat, scardey cat," Darrell jeered. "Don't be a wimp, Tara." He stepped into the cage.

"Are you sure it's safe, Darrell?" Steffen asked.

"Course it's safe," Darrell said confidently. "It would have fallen by now if it wasn't." He jumped up and down. "See."

---F-A-B---

John had finally made it to his room. He threw his bags onto the chair by his bed and made sure that the door to his room was securely locked. When he was satisfied that no human was going to be able to catch him unawares, he changed out of his uniform and into his pyjamas before climbing into bed.

He lay there: unable to relax.

He closed his eyes.

They opened again.

He looked at the door.

He pulled his bedclothes up over his head.

It was too hot so he threw them off.

He looked at the door.

He turned over so he was facing the window.

A chink of light snuck in through a gap in the curtains.

He rolled over again.

He looked at the door.

He gave a half-turn so he was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

He looked at the door.

"This is ridiculous," he grumbled, and got out of bed.

Not having a handle that he could wedge the back of a chair under, he did the next best thing. He pulled a table and some chairs in front of the door. Then he tugged the curtains so they blocked his window completely, before finally checking that his gun was on its stun setting, primed, and within easy reach.

Satisfied he cast one last look around his room before climbing back into bed.

He was asleep before his head touched the pillow.

---F-A-B---

"Jenni," Tara warned. "If you go into that cage, I'll tell Marda and Parda."

"Tattle tale," Clive jeered. "No one likes snitches."

Tara tried another tack. "I won't have to tell Santa Claus. You know he sees everything. He'll know that you've been naughty and he won't bring you any presents."

"He won't?" Jenni asked, hesitating before joining her friends in the lift.

"No, he won't," Tara confirmed. "Come out, Liam. You want Santa to bring you presents, don't you?"

"Yes," Liam agreed.

"Don't listen to her," Darrell held the younger boy back. "She's only saying that. There's no such thing as Santa Claus."

"There isn't?" wide-eyed Steffen stared up at his brother. "But you said there was, Darrell. So did Marda and Parda."

"I… ah…" for all his bravado, Darrell still wasn't prepared to upset his younger sibling. "I mean…"

"He's just trying to make you do what he wants, Steffen, because he knows Santa won't bring him anything and he doesn't want to be the only one that Santa's not visiting," Tara stated. "Come out of there now and Santa will still bring you your presents."

"I want to get out!" Liam protested as he tried to shake himself free of the older boy's grasp. "Let go of me, Darrell!"

"Let go of him, Darrell!" Tara echoed. "Let him out of there!"

"I'm not doing anything…"

Tara stepped into the cage to pull her eight-year-old brother free of the thirteen-year-old's grasp. "Let him go…!"

There was a bang, shrieks, the squeal of metal on metal, and a choking cloud of coal dust. Jenni fell to the ground, where, crying, she covered her head, sure that the ghosts of the old mine had descended on them all.

When the dust had cleared, she found herself in darkness except for the light of a torch that had fallen from someone's grasp. Jenni picked it up. "Tara?"

Where there had been a cage, now there was only blackness.

Timidly, playing the torch in front of her, Jenni walked closer to where her friends and siblings had been only moments earlier. "Liam?"

There was nothing there. Only a black hole going deep into the earth.

"Tara!" Jenni screamed. "Liam!"

There was no reply, only the echo of her voice…

_To be continued._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three  
**

In the dim light from her torch, five-year-old Jenni Teeasi ran the length of the mine's adit, tripping over unseen obstacles and occasionally stopping for breath. She reached the mouth and paused, trying to remember the way they'd come. The beginning of their grand adventure had seemed so exiting and so long ago! It had been light then, but now the night had closed in extinguishing all landmarks.

Theorising that if they'd climbed to reach the mine, then downhill must mean that she was getting closer to her parents and help, Jenni started to run. Slipping and sliding, crying and gasping, tripping and falling, hampered by her many layers of clothes, she descended the hill. She didn't see a rock, stumbled, and fell. Now she was rolling down like a snowball, protected rather than hampered by her clothes, until she came to rest by the road into town.

But which way was town? Should she turn that way or this way? She was disorientated, scratched, bruised, exhausted, and terrified. Her fears and frustrations overwhelming her, she curled up into the foetal position on the side of the road and bawled into her knees.

She was never quite sure what caused her to look up. Sensing that something or someone was urging her on, she raised her head and, through eyes blurred by tears, saw a welcoming glow in the sky. Heartened, she climbed back to her feet and started to run again.

---F-A-B---

"Harri?" Jeanne Teeasi asked. "Do you know where the children are?"

"Outside playing, aren't they?"

"I thought so. I told Tara that they weren't to leave the playground, but they're not there now," Jeanne looked at her watch. "It's time Jenni was in bed."

"They can't have gone far… Hey, Marteen," Harri called out to one of his co-workers. "Seen the kids?"

"No," Marteen Batim admitted. "And Kyla's getting into a flap because she can't find Clive. I told her, find Darrell and you'll find Clive, so now she's ordered me to find his parents. Know where they are?"

"You'll find Cal by the drinks," Harri theorised. "Enid's probably in the kitchen."

"You men go and find Cal," Jeanne suggested. "I'll go and see if Enid has any ideas where the children could be."

But Enid Doak drew a blank on the location of their offspring. "I told Darrell and Steffen to stay close to the hall," she said. "And it's not like your Tara to let your kids stray."

"I know," Jeanne admitted. "That's what worries me."

Kyla's head appeared at the servery to the kitchen. "Does anyone know where Clive is?"

"No," Enid replied. "Our kids are missing too."

"They can't have strayed too far," Jeanne said, trying to remain positive. "Not on Christmas Eve."

Harri came in through the back door. "We've been right around the hall," he stated, "and there's no sign of them. "Cal and Marteen have taken their cars to check the road. Maybe they got bored and they've gone for a walk."

There was an uproar from the hall. "Harri!" Bryce Fuller, the mine manager, came to the servery. "You'd better get out here. Marteen's just brought Jenni in. She's a mess and she's asking for you and Jeanne."

It was Jeanne who reached her daughter first; scooping her up in her arms to comfort her. "Jenni? What's wrong? What happened to you?"

Jenni threw her arms around Jeanne's neck and clung to her mother. "Tara… _gasp_… Gone… _sob_… Liam… _gulp… _Dark…"

"I found her running along the road," Marteen said. "I've asked her if she knows where the other kids are, but I couldn't understand a word she was saying."

"Jenni?" Jeanne stroked a strand of hair off her daughter's forehead and noticed the scratches and torn clothes. "Darling? Do you know where Tara and Liam are?"

"M-M-Mine," Jenni gulped.

"Your what?"

"N-N-Noooo. The m-m-mine."

"The mine?" Jeanne frowned. "But the mine's miles from here."

"Get her something to drink," Enid suggested and a glass of cordial was produced from the kitchen.

Jeanne sat on one of the hall's plastic chairs with Jenni on her lap as the five-year-old slurped down the welcome liquid. "Take it easy, Darling, or else you'll choke," Jeanne took the glass away and hugged her little girl close, allowing her to get her breath back. "Now, tell us from the beginning. Where are Tara and Liam?"

Jenni looked at her mother, then at Cal and Enid and the group of adults crowding around her. Not wanting to get Darrell and Steffen into trouble she buried her head into Jeanne's shoulder and mumbled something.

"What was that, Jenni?" Jeanne lifted a tearstained face from her jacket by the chin. "I can't understand you."

"At the mine," Jenni stated, and guiltily looked down at her hands.

"But the mine's miles away," Jeanne repeated. "You can't have walked there."

"Old mine," Jennie whimpered.

Several people felt their blood run cold and Harri crouched down beside his daughter. "Are you saying that Tara and Liam are up at the old mine?" Jenni nodded. "Who else, Honey?"

"Darrell, Steffen _sniff _'n' Clive."

"Did you go up to the mine too?" her father asked and Jenni nodded again. "How did you get back here?"

"Run… 'n' Mr Marteen brought me."

"You ran? From the old mine? Why, Jenni?"

"They can't have got into too much trouble up there, can they?" someone asked. "The old mine's fenced off."

"It was," Bryce replied. "I was there last week and someone's gone and cut a hole in the fence. I told the owners, but they probably haven't done anything."

"Did you go near the mine?" Harri asked; his face grave, and Jenni, still not wanting to speak or look at anyone, nodded again. "And did Tara, Liam, Clive, Darren and Steffen?"

Jenni gave a quiet "yes."

"Honey…" Harri swallowed. "Did you all go into the mine?"

Jenni fixed her big eyes on him and he saw to his dismay that they were welling up with tears. "We went to see the ghost. We found Santa's sleigh. Clive found the cage. Tara didn't want us to go inside. She said Santa wouldn't leave us presents…" She gulped. "They went without me."

"Went without you?" If Harri was feeling chilled before, he was aware of the sensation that a heavy block of ice seemed to have materialised on his shoulders. "How do you mean 'went without you'?"

"There was," Jenni sniffed, "a big noise. I thought it was the ghost with the flute." She wiped her nose on her sleeve. "It went dark and dusty. I found a torch," she held out a torch and behind her mother someone gasped. "They'd gone."

"That's Clive's torch," Kyla moaned.

"They'd gone," Harri repeated. "Where did they go?"

"The ghost took them… Into the big hole."

Marteen looked at the mine manager. "How deep is that mine?"

"Too deep." Bryce's face held a troubled frown as he scanned around the room. "Who's still here from the rescue squad?" Several hands were raised. "Good. Franc: I want you to go back to the mine and get the equipment. Round up anyone who hasn't been drinking. We're going to need all the clear heads we can get. Don: Get onto the authorities and let them know that we've got a possible mine rescue on our hands. Call…" here he hesitated, not wanting to worry already concerned parents any more. "Call the necessary services…"

Cal stepped forward. "I'm on the squad. Let me help."

"I know you are, Cal," Bryce replied. "But it could be your kids in trouble too. It'd be better if you'd stay here with Enid."

"But I want to help!" Cal took a deep breath. "I _need_ to help."

"And you'll be helping if you stay back here. You've been drinking…"

"Not much!"

"Sorry, Cal, but I'm not prepared to take that risk. Let Franc control it, he's been on orange juice all night… Look, tomorrow, if need be, you can help. Okay?"

Cal gave a reluctant nod.

---F-A-B---

Franc Mozen was a dour man who'd been employed by the Puzz Mining Company since he'd left school. Don Subish, in many respects the complete opposite to his colleague, was a relative newcomer to the firm, but one who'd shown such aptitude and drive that he'd risen quickly through the ranks. Working together, their relative skills and experience complemented each other.

"Franc," Don asked. "How deep's that mine?"

"Deep enough," Franc growled. "They worked that hill until the seam petered out seventy-five years ago. It's about 300 metres deep."

Don gave a whistle. "And the shaft that those kids went into? How deep is that?"

"The company checked it out a few years ago," Franc remembered. "I was one of the exploration team. It was the full depth of the mine."

"Oh, heck…" Don was silent for a moment as he imagined five frightened children dropping the length of the shaft. "They won't have much of a chance then… Assuming that that's the cage they climbed into."

"It will be," Franc confirmed. "There's only one and it's at the end of the adit. If, as the kid says, the others were in the cage and then the cage disappeared, there's only one way they could have gone… Down," he finished with the hint of satisfaction of someone who knew their job.

"How long's the adit?"

"350 metres straight into the side of Blaque Hill. Little Jenni's run quite a way." Franc shook his head. "The whole area's unstable. The entrance to the adit should have been blocked off years ago…"

---F-A-B---

"You can't expect us to stay here, Bryce," Marteen said. "Not while our kids are in trouble."

"Can't we set up a command post by the mine?" Harri asked. "This hall's too far away."

It didn't take Bryce long to realise that this was a fair comment with a reasonable solution. "Okay." He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialled a number. "Franc… Good, you've made good time… Make sure you bring the marquee back with you, we're going to set up the command post at the mine…" He gave a grim smile. "That's why you're my 2IC. Thanks, Franc. We'll meet you there."

"Mr Fuller," Liz Ceerns, his assistant interrupted. "I've got the mayor on the phone."

"What?" Bryce Fuller stared at her. "Verna Obale? Why? What does she want?"

"She was at the same party as Deen Hadlee, the fire chief. She heard him get the call. She wants to offer the council's services."

"Why?" Bryce asked uncharitably. He'd often been at odds with the council's elected representatives over various issues relating to the mine. Verna Obale was not one of his favourite people. "Is it election year?"

Liz hurriedly covered the mouthpiece of her cell phone. "She wants to help," she hissed.

"Doing what?" Bryce grumbled. "Give 'er here…" An ingratiating smile crossed his face. "Verna…! Thanks for your concern… We don't know what the situation is yet; we're setting up a command post at the mine… Yes, we're hoping that too… Okay, we'll see you there… Thanks, Verna…" He handed the phone back to Liz. "I'd better get moving. I don't want some jumped up pen-pusher taking over the show." He gave six worried parents a sympathetic smile. "Relax. I'm sure we've got nothing to worry about. The other kids probably hid from Jenni to tease her. We'll get up to the mine and the five of them will be looking for her and wondering what all the fuss is about… I'll see you up there." He strode out of the room.

"Harri? Why don't you three come with me?" Liz offered. "I'm sure you'd rather concentrate on looking after Jenni, instead of thinking about driving?"

By the time the procession of cars had reached the Blaque Hill mine, Jenni had provided Jeanne and Harri with a more complete idea of what had happened. It was a worried couple and driver that pulled up in the car park and faced the mine that had claimed their offspring and the children of their friends. Harsh spotlights bathed the entrance in an unnatural glow, but the mouth itself was a black hole.

"I'll go find Bryce," Liz offered. "Franc's setting up the marquee now, so you can wait here in the warm, in my car, until they're ready."

Jeanne gave her a nervous smile. "Thanks for everything, Liz."

Sandwiched between her parents, Jenni squirmed. "Don't like this place."

"No, Honey," Jeanne gave her a kiss on the top of her head. "Neither do I."

"What are Franc and Bryce doing mucking about?" Harri griped. "They should be searching that mine, not worrying about tents."

"Relax, Harri," Jeanne began. "They know what…"

"Relax! Our kids are in there and you are asking me to relax!" Startled by her father's shout Jenni shrank back from him and choked back a sob.

"Harri!" Jeanne hissed.

Harri was immediately ashamed of his outburst. "I'm sorry, Jenni." He put his arm around his daughter and gave her a hug. "Parda's worried, that's all."

"We're all worried," Jeanne reminded him. "But we can't do anything except wait."

"I could get a torch and start searching," Harri said, indicating the mine. "They might be hiding just inside the entrance."

"It looks like someone else has your idea." Jeanne gestured to where a shadowy figure was creeping towards the opening.

"That's Cal," Harri muttered. "Silly fool. He's had too much to drink. He could bring the whole mine down on top of all of them." He clambered out of the car. "Cal!"

The shadow stopped briefly and then continued its stealthy trek.

"Cal!" Harri shouted again. "Stop!" He began running towards his colleague.

He needn't have bothered. Someone else stepped out of the shadows. "Come away, Cal," Bryce Fuller said. "We've got everything under control. We're going to send the remote control camera in. That mine's not safe."

"But, Bryce!" Cal Doak protested. "I can't stand around and do nothing."

"Then come and watch the monitor. We're going to need all the eyes we can get." Bryce took Cal's arm. "This way. We'll get the Teeasis." He gestured over to where Harri was standing, watching them.

Clearly unhappy, Cal allowed himself to be led away from the mouth of the mine.

"Harri," Bryce acknowledged. "We're nearly ready in the marquee. Franc's got five monitors set up to receive the feeds from the cameras. We'd appreciate your help. Yours too, Jeanne," he said, leaning into the car. "And you too, Jenni."

There was barely room to move inside the marquee. Worried people: workmates, friends of families, members of the fire, police and ambulance services and council all vied for space around the monitors and other equipment.

Bryce guided Cal and the Teeasis to a monitor; then he donned a radio headset. "Ready when you are, Franc."

His second-in-command's voice was clear in his ear. "Roger. Approaching mine."

"Be careful."

With cautious steps, their protective gear strapped firmly into place, Franc, Don and two of their subordinates walked up to the mine. In his hands Franc held a remote controlled aerial camera. Its main rotor was encapsulated within the body of the vehicle, while two smaller rotors, also ducted into the body of the camera, were designed to control direction. Five night-vision lenses were the camera's eyes on the world. Each of these lenses faced a different direction; four directly linked to a set of the virtual reality glasses raised out of the way by the men approaching the hazardous mine entrance.

They entered the adit and stopped to allow their eyes to adjust to the darkness.

"VR in place," Franc ordered and four sets of glasses were snapped down over four pair of eyes. "Operational?"

"Check," Don confirmed.

"Check."

"Check."

"Good," Franc grunted. "Stay here." He took four steps into the adit and stopped. His own virtual reality glasses were replicating the view seen by the front lens on the remote control camera. "Looks pretty rough."

He heard a warning in his earpiece. "Don't go any further than you have to, Franc."

"I won't, Bryce." Franc moved further into the tunnel.

"We're losing your signal, Franc," Don warned. "We're going to have to get closer."

"Take it easy," Franc cautioned. "I'm going to take, ah, maybe another ten steps. Jenni was right; there's been a cave in. Recent by the looks of it… Mainly on the left side of the adit. The girl was lucky that there was an escape route."

The men at the entrance raised their VR glasses and, using torches, moved ten paces away from the mouth of the mine. Then they snapped the glasses back into position. "We're ready, Franc," Don confirmed. "We're receiving a strong signal and good picture quality from you."

"Good. Starting motors." The little remote control camera whirred into life. Kicking up a light haze of dust the machine disappeared into the darkness, keeping to the right of the cave in.

The four men watched four different views, one in each direction. Franc scrutinised the way ahead as he controlled the motion of the little vehicle, while the other three kept watch on the camera's position relative to the rock walls. All four were aware that the slightest nudge of that wall could bring the entire mine down onto them. While unable to control the direction that the RCC moved, Don and his assistants could stop the device's momentum should it stray too close to danger, and warn Franc when to watch his back.

Outside the mine, those crowded around the monitors could see five differing views on the monitors. The one vista that was unseen by those inside the mine was that broadcast by the lens in the belly of the remote control camera. This was scanning a 360 degree view; on the look out for anything lying on the floor.

"Anyone see anything?" Bryce asked. The only replies he received were to the negative.

Deeper and deeper along the adit; Deeper and deeper into the mine; the RCC flew, responding to Franc's remote commands as he in turn responded to the instructions from his colleagues.

---F-A-B---

"What's the situation, Bryce?"

"Ah, Madam Mayor," Bryce Fuller tried to be civil. "We are currently searching the mine with a remote camera. We are hoping to find evidence as to whether or not the children were in the cage when it fell or, possibly, if they weren't even in the mine at the time of the collapse."

"Do you think there's a chance of that?" Verna Obale asked.

Bryce glanced at the couples that were standing, listening. Then he shook his head. "No."

"What's that!" Harri shouted, pointing at the screen

"Stop, Franc!" Bryce ordered. "Back it up a bit."

"You're clear behind," reported the man focused on the rear-view camera.

Franc put the RCC into reverse. "How far back?"

Bryce looked at Harri. "Two metres?" His associate nodded his agreement. "Two metres, Franc."

All eyes were on the monitors that were displaying the floor of the mine's adit. Straining to see something… Anything!

"What did you see, Harri?" Marteen asked.

"I don't know. Something lighter than the surrounding rock… There!"

"Stop, Franc," Bryce instructed. He took control of the downwards pointing camera and zoomed in on an object that was paler than the surrounding rock. "Is that what you saw?"

"That's it," Harri said, deflated by the piece of pale granite that filled the monitor. "I'm sorry everyone. I guess I'm seeing things." Trying to console her husband, Jeanne rubbed his arm reassuringly.

"It's a false positive, Franc," Bryce announced. "Keep going."

---F-A-B---

At last they'd reached the vertical shaft.

The framework remained, but the cage had gone.

All that remained was a hole that plunged deep into the earth.

A hole that descended nearly 300 metres into the earth.

"What's that?" Marteen asked, pointing at a pale object off to one side of the shaft. "Another bit of granite?"

"Move to your left, Franc," Bryce instructed.

"You've got plenty of room," Don announced. "Keep going."

The object drew closer and closer to the centre of the picture. Once again all eyes were on this mysterious object…

"Well, it's not a rock," Bryce said. "Anyone know what it could be?"

"C-Can we look at it from another angle?" Enid gulped.

Bryce gave the instruction and then looked at her. "Do you know what it is?"

Enid closed her eyes. "I hope not."

"How's that?" Franc Mozen's voice asked.

"Enid?" Bryce was quiet. "Do you know what it is?"

She had opened her eyes and was pale as she nodded. "It's Steffen's woolly hat. I knitted it myself. The penguin was all out of shape…" She choked back a sob.

The camera panned back to the deep, dark, vertical shaft.

Back in the control centre the marquee was deathly quiet as the realisation of what they were seeing settled on those present.

"Oh, Clive…" Kyla Batim sagged against her husband and Marteen, battling his own grief, picked her up and carried her to one of the chairs.

Cal and Enid held each other close and tried to be strong and supportive at this, the worst moment in their lives.

"Marda?" Little Jenni Teeasi looked up at her mother. "What is that?"

Jeanne picked her daughter up and hugged her tightly. "Jenni… That's where the cage was. The one that Tara and Liam and Steffen and Clive and Darrell went into."

"That's the hole?"

"That's right, Honey," Trying to be strong Harri stroked his daughter's hair. "They've fallen a long, long way."

"Will they get an owie?" Jenni asked.

"Oh, Jenni…" Jeanne hugged her tighter. "They'll hurt more than an owie."

"Marda?" Surprised by the tears that were rolling down her mother's face, Jenni wiped them away. "Don't cry, Marda."

"I'm sorry, Honey. I can't help it."

"It's Christmas," Jenni stated. She squirmed out of Jeanne's arms. "You should be happy at Christmas." She looked up at her parents in innocent confidence. "I'm going to write a letter to Santa Claus. He'll help."

Harri knelt down so he was eye-to-eye with his little girl. "Jenni… Honey… That's imp… There's no…" He took a deep breath. "Santa can't…" Unable to look into those trusting eyes and destroy his daughter's illusions, he gave a wan smile. "Okay, Jenni. You write a letter to Santa."

"Harri?"

Harri straightened and put his arm around his wife. "I know, Jeanne. I know." He pulled her into an embrace. "I know…"

Liz had overheard the conversation between father and daughter. "Would you like to write a letter to Santa, Jenni? I have some paper over here on this table that you can use."

Jenni gave her a bright smile. "Thank you, Mrs Ceerns."

"You're welcome, Jenni."

---F-A-B---

"I'm going down," Franc Mozen stated. "Keep watch on those walls."

"Affirmative."

"Watching."

"Roger."

The RCC started descending into the hole that had once been plugged by the elevator cage.

"How deep is the void?" Bryce Fuller asked.

A laser shot out of the underside of the RCC, reflecting off the first obstacle below it.

The resulting readout was shown on the display of Franc's VR glasses. "Two hundred and forty five metres." Through his earpiece he heard sounds of dismay.

"Any sign of them?" Bryce asked.

"Negative. I'll send it deeper."

"Careful, Franc. We don't want any more debris on top of that cage in case they've survived the drop."

"I'll be careful." Franc's reply masked the fact that he didn't hold out much hope for survivors.

"You're kicking up a lot of dust on this side, Franc," Don warned.

"And here," his opposite number confirmed. "The walls are getting close."

"You haven't got much leeway behind either," their workmate stated.

"If I can get a little closer…" Franc made an adjustment. "If I can get a visual on what's down there…"

A shower of pebbles tumbled off the wall and into the waiting darkness below the RCC. "Franc! Hold it!" Don shouted and the picture in his VR glasses became static. "We've got loose material! It's too unstable."

He heard a groan of frustration. "Just another 20 metres and I'd know what was down there! But I daren't go any lower."

Above ground in the marquee, his statement was met with anguish. "No!" Enid cried. "You can't stop trying."

"We've got no option," Bryce said. "Just the smallest rock fall this high up could unleash something bigger lower down." He looked at the distraught woman. "I'm sorry. We're going to have to try something else."

"But what?" Marteen asked. "What can we do?"

Bryce turned back to the screen. "We're going to have to dig. But it's going to be a long slow process." He turned back to the bereft parents. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Back at the mine, things were taking a unforeseen and perilous turn as someone pushed past and ran into the adit. "Outta my way, Don. That's my kids down there!"

"Hey!" Don shouted. "Cal! Don't go in there! It's not safe! Come back…! Franc! Get out of there! Cal Doak's just come running past. Stop him! He's liable to bring the whole place down on you."

"What!" Startled by the unexpected string of instructions, Franc Mozen's hand gave an involuntary jerk and the remote controlled camera, on its return journey, spun out into the wall. It started a chain reaction that sent shockwaves throughout the complex. The walls and ceiling of the adit caved in, sending Franc crashing to the ground, his arms covering his head in an ineffectual attempt to protect himself from the rocks that were descending on him.

"Franc!" Forgoing their own safety, Don and his two companions took off into the mine. "Cal!"

They found the latter crouched down, his hands shielding his head. "My kids… My kids…. Kids…"

"Get him out of here," Don panted to one of his assistants. "We'll go after Franc." The two men ran deeper into the choking dust.

They found Franc pinned under several large boulders. "Franc…! Franc, can you hear me?" Don fell to his knees beside his colleague and began pulling rocks off the prone body. "Say something!"

"D-Don?"

"Franc! How are you? Are you hurt?"

"Those k-kids…"

"Don't worry about them. Let's get you out of here." Now that the trapped man's body was exposed Don was able to check his boss for injuries. "Don't move: we'll get you a stretcher."

"On its way, Don," Bryce told him. "Just hang in there. How is he?"

"Could be worse."

"Is there any chance of further collapse?"

Don coughed away some of the clearing dust. "No… Everything seems to be settling… For the moment… But one thing's for sure. We're not going to be able to get to those children this way." The stretcher arrived. "I'll get back to you once we've got Franc out, Bryce."

"Okay. Take care – all of you." Bryce reached over and flipped the switch that turned off the now useless monitor and the static on the screen stilled. "Of all the dumb, stupid things to do, Cal…" he muttered. Then he looked up, seeing Cal's wife's horrified face. "I'm sorry, Enid."

"Th-The shaft," Kyla stammered. "Wh-What's happened to the shaft?

Bryce had no answer.

"What are we going to do now, Bryce?" Harri asked. "You said we're going to have to dig, but do you have any idea how long that will take!?"

"I know, Harri."

"Do you realise that _if_, by some miracle," Marteen was on his feet, "the shaft hasn't collapsed onto the cage, the slightest vibration might cause it to do so?"

"I know, Marteen."

"So? What are we going to do?"

Bryce didn't have the answer.

"I know what we're going to do."

Everyone turned to look at the new participant in this conversation. The mayor of Puzz, Verna Obale, stepped forward.

Bryce could barely conceal his contempt for the woman who was sticking her nose into affairs that she knew nothing about. "What, Madam Mayor? What _are_ we going to do?"

Verna Obale was five-foot nothing of steely determination. "_We_ are going to call International Rescue."

_To be continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four  
**

John's first thought, as he was awakened by the scream of the rescue alert, was to wonder if Alan had got it right this time. It wasn't as if Alan had ever got it wrong, and if you'd ever asked John to rate Alan's competency as replacement space monitor, John would have unequivocally given him a ten out of ten. It's just that John's little brother was… well… his little brother and that John was half asleep.

Then John remembered that both he and Alan were at home on Earth and hoped that Thunderbird Five's computers had got it right this time.

As these sluggish thoughts were progressing through his brain he got up, grabbed his robe and headed for the door, tripping over his booby trap. Stifling a mild curse he shifted the chair, skirted his table and made his way out of his bedroom door, arriving in the lounge at the same time as Scott. They both made a point of standing as far away from 'Santa Claus' as possible.

Christmas Day was beginning to dawn.

"Do you want to do the honours, John?" Jeff asked.

"Thanks." John stifled a yawn and slid into his father's chair. "This is International Rescue. Go ahead."

"International Rescue?! Thank heavens! You've got to save those kids!"

"Which children, Ma'am?"

"Oh, sorry," she sounded apologetic. "I'd better explain. My name is Verna Obale. I'm the mayor of the town of Puzz. We're a coal mining town and five children were playing around an old mine. Apparently they climbed into the cage and it's fallen, taking them with it."

John glanced at his family. "How far will they have fallen?"

"Three hundred metres."

John resisted the impulse to exclaim, _Three hundred metres!_ Instead he replied with a calm, "Do you have any information on how the children are, Ma'am?

"No. Our local rescue team have attempted to reach them, but there was a cave in. It nearly killed one of our men."

John got a few more pieces of information before promising to call back in a few minutes and signing off. He turned to his family. "Well? How do we respond?"

"Three hundred metres," Tin-Tin breathed.

"How much is that in old money?" Grandma asked.

Jeff's face was sombre. "About one thousand feet. What chance would they have, Brains?"

"O-Obviously it would depend on a number of f-factors," Brains mused. "The presence of methane gas… The lack of o-oxygen… O-One may have survived… c-cushioned by the others. Alive, but with s-serious injuries. B-By the time we reached them…"

"And we're not going to be able to dive in, get those children and then fly out again," Scott said. "This is going to take time."

"So it's not a rescue then," Gordon stated. "We're looking at body recovery?"

"Y-Yes," Brains agreed.

"We're in the rescue business," Jeff said. "This isn't within our purview. While we're out attempting the impossible in one part of the world, someone in another part might need our help."

"I'm willing to go," Virgil said. "I couldn't enjoy Christmas knowing those families don't have closure."

"Christmas…" Scott said. "What kind of Christmas is that community going to have? I'll help you, Virg. The rest of you don't need to come."

"Don't be silly, you'll be needed at Mobile Control," Gordon rejoined. "I'm going too."

"You'll need more in The Mole than just the two of you," John said.

"Yeah, so I'm coming too," Alan added.

Jeff looked at them all, his eyes grey. "Very well. You'd better tell the mayor, John."

"Yes, Sir."

"I assume you'll be taking Thunderbird One," Santa Claus said and most of the family jumped, having forgotten the presence of their tiny visitor. "I'd better go and make sure that my reindeer are out of the way. We don't want venison for Christmas dinner. Right, Scott?" he winked. "Would it be all right if I were to house them in the changing room again, Jeff?"

Jeff managed to smile at the tiny man. "Good idea, Santa."

Scott watched the mysterious figure leave. "Good. Now that he's gone, I'll get going. We don't want him to see how we get to the Thunderbirds."

"Get over it, Scott," Gordon said. "Santa's not a threat."

"He's not a threat if he doesn't know anything," Scott said, stepping up to the twin light fittings.

"How much sleep did you have last night, Scott?" Jeff asked.

"About three to four hours. Relax, Father. I feel fine." Scott rotated out of sight.

"How about you, Virgil?"

"A little more than him," Virgil replied. "I'm okay too."

Santa came running back into the lounge; surprisingly quick on his feet for such a rotund little man. "That was easy," he panted. "They were all curled up on your pool furniture." He turned as the patio doors rumbled shut and locked into position. "Looks like I've missed out on saying goodbye to Scott."

"We'll need The Mole," Virgil said. "Any other suggestions, Brains?"

"N-No."

"Before you go, Boys," Santa stepped up to the young men. "I want to wish you all a safe trip. Good luck, Gordon," he shook the red-head's hand. "Good luck, Virgil." They shook hands.

"Thank you, Santa."

"Good luck, Alan."

Alan smiled as they shook. "Thanks."

"Good luck, John."

If Scott had been present, John would have claimed that he'd been ambushed. Instead all that he was aware of was a feeling of warm charity that flooded his system. He smiled. "Merry Christmas, Santa."

There was a roar outside as Thunderbird One flared past the window.

"Now," Santa gave a slight bow. "If you'll all excuse me, I'm going to check on Zoomer." As he was about to leave the lounge he turned back again. "Keep safe: all of you."

"We'd better get moving too," Virgil said as he took up his position against the painting of the rocket.

---IR---

---F-A-B---

At the mine it was still Christmas Eve and Scott, playing Thunderbird One's spotlight across the landscape, did a quick circuit of the area around Blaque Hill to get his bearings. The parking area by the old mine was full of cars and a marquee, so he brought Thunderbird One down to land on the cordoned off section of the road at the base of the hill. When the motors had stilled he jumped out of his rocket plane and was met by both Verna Obale and Bryce Fuller.

After the introductions had been made Scott looked up the hill. "Before I get set up I want to find out what we're up against. Can you show me into the mine?"

"I can," Bryce offered, "but I'll warn you, the whole area's unstable."

"That's why we're here." Scott reached into a storage compartment in Thunderbird One's hull and withdrew a large box of kit. Together the three of them tramped directly up the hill to the mining complex and a small crowd of people.

"These are the families of the children," Verna explained.

Cal Doak was nursing an arm in a sling and various scratches and bruises. "You've got to get our children out of there."

"We'll do our best," Scott promised, not for the first time amazed at human beings' ability to remain positive in the face of hopeless odds. "But it's going to be a slow process." The group nodded; seemingly willing to accept this fact.

Scott marched up to the open mouth of the mine, placed his box on the ground and opened it. He became aware that the group of people were crowding in close. He looked up at them and, as one, they shuffled back again. He removed a mining helmet, checked the lamp on the front and then placed it on his head, ensuring that it was fitted securely. Then he reached into his kit again and removed a spherical object, white with a black circle on one side, slightly smaller than a baseball and with the self-explanatory legend 'ORB' painted around the circumference. Pressing his thumbnail into a groove the ball began to glow slightly and emitted a low frequency hum.

"What's that?" Bryce asked.

"Scanner," Scott replied. He reached back into his box and pressed a few buttons on a control panel. Lights started flashing. "Good. It's working. Right!" He stood and turned towards the mouth of the mine. "Let's go." He and Bryce Fuller advanced into the adit.

---F-A-B---

Grandma and Kyrano had gone to make a start on breakfast, Tin-Tin had retired to get dressed, and Brains was in his lab doing research of the geology of the rescue zone. Santa Claus and Jeff Tracy were the only ones left in the lounge. Jeff was looking at the portraits of his sons.

"You're proud of them, Jeff."

Jeff looked at the little man as if he'd forgotten that he was there and then smiled. "Yes I am. It's not everyone who would give up their Christmas Day to do what they're going to have to do."

"It might not be as bad as you fear."

"No," Jeff conceded. "But I don't hold out a lot of hope for those children. Christmas will be long gone before the boys reach any survivors."

"Have faith, Jeff. It's Christmas Day! Isn't it supposed to be a time of miracles?"

---F-A-B---

It was rocky underfoot as Scott and the mine manager crept deeper into the adit. Their torches piercing into the darkness, they advanced, taking care where each step was placed before moving forward. Then they came to the edge of the rock fall.

"This is the tricky bit," Scott admitted. "This gizmo will burrow through the rock until it reaches the shaft. The problem is, do I set it off here, at the toe of the collapse, and have it take longer, but cut through more stable rock; or do I risk getting closer to the main body of the collapse so it doesn't have to cut so far, but will be passing through unstable rubble." He looked at Bryce. "You're the local expert and I presume you know the local geology. What would you recommend?"

Bryce, not expecting to be called on to assist the great International Rescue, stalled for time by playing his torch over the cave in. "It looks stable for a few metres," he stated. "I think we can go closer."

"No," Scott replied. "I'm going closer. You can stay here. That way if all this comes down on top of me, you can get out and get help." He looked at his watch. "The rest of my team will be here in about an hour. I'd better make sure everything's ready for them."

He took a step further into the adit.

---F-A-B---

"How close are we, Virg?"

Virgil, at his accustomed place at the controls of Thunderbird Two, looked over his shoulder at his elder brother. "One point three zero hours away. I thought everyone was asleep."

John jerked his thumb back into the cabin. "The kids are dead to the world."

"I thought you would have been 'dead to the world' too."

"I'm too keyed up," John admitted. "I couldn't sleep."

Virgil grinned. "Santa's touch, huh? There isn't a better feeling in the world."

"Scott doesn't know what he's missing. He had me convinced that Santa Claus was the devil incarnate."

Virgil laughed. "He thought I'd been drugged. He worries unnecessarily..."

---F-A-B---

The only worries that Scott Tracy had at this present moment was this impenetrable rock wall ahead of him. He was standing on a precarious outcrop of rubble contemplating his next move. Deciding it would be prudent not to chance his luck; he placed his right foot on a boulder, shifted two-thirds of his weight onto that leg, and then placed the ORB into a hollow; black mark facing away from him. Pressing his fingernail into the groove again he fired the laser into life. Unseen by his eyes, the pulse of narrow-wavelength light bit into the rock.

Scott watched in satisfaction as the ORB ate its way into the rock fall. When he was convinced that all was progressing as planned; he straightened and took a microphone out of his pocket. "Mobile Control to Thunderbird Two. Come in, Virgil."

"Thunderbird Two here."

"Is anyone awake?"

"I've got John beside me."

"Can I have a word with him?"

"What can I do for you, Scott?"

"The ORB's operational. I've still got a few tasks to complete before Thunderbird Two arrives. Can you take over control?"

There was a moment's pause as John relocated himself so he was seated in front of one of Thunderbird Two's many computers. "I've got control, Scott. All systems green."

"Good. See you soon. Mobile Control out." Scott pocketed the microphone and turned.

His natural inclination was to step down off the boulder to his right. But even as he took the step something forced, and if he'd been asked to analyse the sensation he would have said pushed, him to his left. As he fell he had the impression that the whole world had shifted and was caving in around him!

All he could feel was dust and dirt and hard rocky surfaces…

All he could hear was a deafening roar…

Before it all went dark…

---F-A-B---

"Santa, would you like a cup of coffee?" Tin-Tin asked. "Santa?" When he didn't respond she shared a concerned glance with Jeff. "Mr Claus?" She gently placed her hand on his shoulder.

"What?" Santa Claus woke out of his reverie. "Oh, I'm sorry, Tin-Tin," he smiled. "Did you say a cup of coffee? That sounds wonderful; thank you, my dear?"

"Is everything all right?" Tin-Tin asked.

He beamed at her. "You have nothing to worry about, Tin-Tin. All is well."

---F-A-B---

John still at the computer, monitoring the ORB's readouts, uttered a quiet exclamation.

"Something wrong, John?" Virgil asked.

"Something jarred it," John replied. "Quite a big shock."

Virgil frowned at him. "How big?"

"I can't tell," John admitted. "Everything's still working perfectly."

"You must have some idea," Virgil persisted. "Could it be another cave-in? Scott won't have had the time to get very far away!" He opened up the communications link. "Thunderbird Two to Mobile Control... Thunderbird Two calling Mobile Control…!"

---F-A-B---

Coughing against all the dust that hung in the air, Scott sat up. He was aware of two voices; one, accompanied by a dancing torch, was drawing closer down the adit. The other was coming from his pocket. "I'm okay," he called out to the torch as he removed the microphone. "Mobile Control here."

He could hear relief in Virgil's voice. "Are you okay? The ORB reported a shock."

Scott was looking at where Bryce's torch was picking out a Mobile Control sized boulder that was embedded into the floor next to him, right where he'd intended to walk. "I'm okay, Virg. There was a slight rock fall. Nothing serious. Is the ORB still working?" He got to his feet and a shower of dust and pebbles drifted off his shoulders and fell to the floor.

"It's still working," Virgil confirmed.

"How far out are you?"

"One point oh-eight hours."

"Okay, Thunderbird Two. No need to tell you that we need you here A.S.A.P. Mobile Control out."

"Are you all right?"

Scott smiled at a worried Bryce Fuller and then turned his attention to brushing the remaining dust off his shoulders. "No worries. Let's get out of here."

---F-A-B---

"Making good progress?" Virgil asked John.

"Uh huh. Every time I use one of Brains' gizmos I'm always amazed at what that man's mind comes up with." John made a slight adjustment. "The laser's cutting through the rubble like a sharp knife through Grandma's turkey."

"Don't," Virgil pleaded. "You'll remind me that we're going to miss Christmas dinner."

"We're going to miss Christmas, full stop," John stated. "Hang on, looks like we've moved out of the rubble and into a solid boulder… no, we're off again. The hard part about this job is deciding whether to speed through the loose stuff and risk the whole lot shifting or whether to look for something solid and hope to find an air pocket on the other side. Whoa, there's a gap, let's sneak into there. That's good. Now let's try veering off to the right a little…"

Virgil left his brother muttering to himself and concentrated on flying Thunderbird Two through the dark empty skies…

---F-A-B---

Scott and Bryce exited the tunnel and found themselves caught up in a gaggle of excited and nervous parents. What had happened? They'd heard the rumble and seen dust come flying out. Had anything been found? Did they have any news?

Scott left Bryce to fend off all questions and got a new cube-shaped object, plus something that looked like a remote control, out of his kit. He became aware that once again he was surrounded by anxious people. He shut and locked the box and then, with some polite 'excuse me's' he pushed his way though the crowd and followed the contour of the hill. When he'd gone past the car park and was at the edge of the Blaque Hill mine complex he stopped and placed the square object on the ground. Having checked the remote, he decided that he wasn't satisfied with the cube's position and picked it up again, walked ten steps and then placed the cube back on the ground. Then he took a step backwards and trod on someone's foot.

He turned and faced the crowd. "Look, I understand that you're all worried about your kids. You want to know what International Rescue is going to do to rescue them, but I'm afraid there's nothing to see at the moment. We can't begin the rescue until Thunderbird Two and our tunnelling machine gets here, and once that starts drilling, everything will be happening underground. Why don't you all go back to the tent and wait? I'm quite happy for one of you to remain with me at Mobile Control to act as liaison."

"I'll do that!" Bryce and Verna spoke together and then glared at each other.

"Thank you," Scott acknowledged. "You can both do it. It's going to be a long rescue and you can take shifts. Who's going to go first?"

"I'd better, Madam Mayor," Bryce smirked. "You can deal with the media." He indicated down the hill to where a truck with a satellite dish was pulling up outside the roadblock.

"How did they find out?" Verna asked. "I left instructions that no one was to talk to the media." She looked at Scott. "I know that International Rescue values its privacy."

"They would have tapped into the emergency services radio messages," Scott explained. "It happens all the time. Most media outlets respect our wishes, but every now and then we get a rogue reporter who puts a scoop above all other interests."

Verna sighed. "I'd better go talk to them." She turned back to the group of anxious parents. "Come on, everyone. We'd better let International Rescue get on with their job. Mr Fuller and I will make sure that you are kept up-to-date with all developments." She shepherded most of the group back to the marquee.

Scott turned to the one remaining person. "I'm glad you've got the first shift, Bryce. I might need your help again. You said you're the manager of the Puzz Mining Company, didn't you?"

"Yes, that's right."

"How far away is your main shaft?"

"Two kilometres in that direction."

"How far underground does your mine go?"

"The current lowest point is 215 metres."

"Not as deep as I'd like, but it'll do. Is that depth reachable from the main shaft?"

"No, it's at the end of a decline." Bryce saw Scott's frown. "That's a sloping ramp."

"Is it hard to descend the decline?"

"It's not hard, but it takes a little time."

"Okay." Scott thought for a moment. "What I'm trying to do is get a triangulation fix on exactly where the cage is. We know how deep the shaft was originally, and we knew how far down the top of the rocks on top of the cage were, before we had the last two rock falls. But we don't know exactly where the cage is between those two points. The ORB…"

"ORB?" Bryce queried.

"Organic Resonance Beacon. It can detect objects in its immediate vicinity and is sensitive enough to pick up vibrations like heartbeats…"

"Heartbeats!"

Scott nodded. "But it can't tell us where those vibrations are coming from or how far away they are. As I'm sure you're aware, drilling down to those kids is going to be an exacting business. If we're as much as a millimetre out then we could create another rock fall and crush them."

"I understand."

"So, we've got the ORB and maps telling us where the shaft is, now I want two points of reference for the location of the cage. This will be one," Scott indicated the cube, "if I can place it as deep as it's possible to go in your mine. I don't have to be the one to put it in place, but I'd like to get it in there as soon as possible. If I fly you and any assistants out there in Thunderbird One, perhaps you could arrange to have someone to drive out and pick you up again while I fly back here?"

"Fly in Thunderbird One!" As Scott had guessed he would, Bryce had gone all goggle-eyed at the idea. "Sure! I can arrange that. Give me a moment." He began walking briskly towards the marquee.

"I'll meet you at Thunderbird One," Scott called after him.

---IR---

---F-A-B---

After dropping off two very excited men at the operational mine, Scott returned to Blaque Hill. He was pleased to see that in the interim someone had arranged to clear all the cars from the car park, leaving plenty of room for Thunderbird One to touch down close to the centre of operations, but out of the way from where Thunderbird Two would have to land. He extracted Mobile Control from its holding compartment and set it up beneath the rocket plane's fuselage. The centre of operations might have been in the marquee, but the tent was too crowded for his liking. A cold wind whistled through and he turned up the collar of his winter jacket, pulled his hat down over his ears and erected a clear-sided windbreak around Mobile Control.

"Are you sure you wouldn't be more comfortable in the marquee?"

Scott smiled at Verna as he set up a portable heater. "Definitely warmer, but it's quieter out here. You've got too many nosey reporters looking for news in there."

Verna agreed. "When he told us you were taking him for a flight in Thunderbird One, Bryce Fuller was like a child receiving his dream Christmas present."

"I only wish we could guarantee the families of those children an equally good Christmas."

Verna studied Scott for a moment. "Off the record. What are their chances?"

"Off the record… Not good. But," Scott stared the mayor in the eye, "we're going to bring those kids home to their families no matter how we find them…"

"Thunderbird Two to Mobile Control."

"Mobile Control. Go ahead, John."

"I've reached the shaft, Scott. I'm ready to descend."

"That's great, John. How far out are you?"

Virgil's voice cut in. "We've got a visual on you. Touching down in two point one five minutes. Where do you want us?"

"There's a field at the bottom of the hill beneath where Thunderbird One's located. Land there facing the incline and you'll have a head start when you start to drill. John…"

"Yes, Scott."

"I'm taking control of the ORB. When you've landed leave the others to set up and come and see me."

"F-A-B. Where are you?"

"Under Thunderbird One."

"Rather you than me: I've just seen the thermometer. I'll be sure to wrap warm."

"You'll be warm enough where you're going. Sorry Virgil. It's not snowing; you won't be getting a white Christmas."

"That doesn't matter," Virgil responded. "I'll be spending Christmas underground anyway."

Scott was ensuring that the ORB was being transferred to his control as they were talking, and a night-vision picture of a rock wall came up on screen. "Okay, John, I've got it. See you shortly." He pushed the microphone away and then glanced at Verna. "You might have something to report soon. I only hope it's something positive."

Fascinated, Verna watched the picture slide up past the camera lens. Scott had his full attention on the various gauges and video telling him the ORB's position as the little machine's anti-gravitational engine lowered it down the shaft without disturbing the surrounding area. He paused it for a moment. "Want to help?"

"Of course," Verna said eagerly.

"Watch that gauge," Scott pointed to a vertical strip. "That's reading the depth of the shaft, 300 metres. When it turns red that will mean we're only five metres away from the top of whatever's on the cage. Tell me when you see it change colour."

"Okay."

The ORB started descending again. The only time that Verna's attention strayed from her duty was when a tall blond man stepped underneath Thunderbird One from behind the windbreak. He smiled at her but didn't say anything.

Scott stopped the ORB's descent. "Hi, John."

"How's it going, Scott?"

"We must be getting close. I've got Verna here keeping an eye on the vertical-drop-gauge. How's The Mole?"

"Getting set up as we speak. We'll be ready to move in a minute. We just need you to tell us where to go."

"Okay," Scott confirmed. "Descending again. Ready, Verna?"

"Ready."

Verna needn't have put so much effort into watching the vertical-drop-gauge, at the moment it turned red a buzzer sounded from the console. Scott read the printout. "Two hundred and forty metres. That's a good sign. Nothing much has fallen onto them since they dropped into the shaft. Now, let's see if we can pick up any signs of life. Transferring over to automatic pilot." Verna gave him a quizzical look. "The computer's reactions are hundreds of times quicker than any human's. It'll be able to sense danger and react accordingly before I could." As he finished speaking Mobile Control bleeped again. "Touchdown!"

John leant on the console so he was closer to the readouts. "Let's see what we're going to be bringing back," he said grimly.

Different readouts started pouring from the computer. Scott pointed to one in particular. "What's that?"

John leant closer. "It's looks alive, whatever it is."

"Is it the children?" Verna asked.

"It's a bit hard to tell," Scott replied. "The scanner's not picking up a defined heartbeat pattern, but we're dealing with children of different ages. "Their heart rates will all be different, even before you take into account the stress they're under. If the ORB's picking up two or more different sounds it could be jumbling them together into one…"

"Or it could be a groundhog," John added. "Sorry," he apologised. "I'm just making sure that you don't get anyone's hopes up too high. Some of the children could be alive or it could be something totally unrelated. We can't tell from here."

Verna nodded, her face grave. "I understand. I'll go and tell them all now, but…" her face lit up and she crossed her fingers. Then she ducked out from the shelter.

"I hope she stresses that it's not necessarily those kids," Scott said.

"I'm sure she will…" There was a cheer from the tent. "Or maybe not…" John straightened. "Well, what did you want me for, Scott?"

"How were things at home when you left?"

"Home?" John frowned. "Fine… Why?"

"Did that 'Santa' guy see anything he shouldn't?"

"Santa? No, he went down to check on his reindeer before we left the lounge."

"Good. I'm going to have plenty of time to think about how we're going to deal with him so I'll try to come up with a cast-iron plan. I'm worried about those we've left at home though."

"I don't know why you're worried, Scott."

"What?"

"It's not like Santa Claus would do anything to harm International Rescue."

Scott stared at him. "_Et tu, Brute?_"

"I know the whole thing sounds a little implausible..."

"Try downright impossible!"

"…But I do think that this guy is the real McCoy."

"Real…" Scott spluttered. "How did he get you, John?"

"Get me?"

"Touch you!"

"He wished us all good luck and shook hands. It would have seemed churlish to not respond appropriately." Scott groaned. "Relax, Scott. Think of how lucky you are. How many people get to meet the genuine Santa Claus?!"

"John," Scott snapped. "I don't have time to deal with your fantasies. People are relying on us to retrieve those kids' bodies!"

"Well, since we're quoting Shakespeare, let me remind you that_there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy._"

"And since we're quoting Hamlet, let me remind you of something._Well said, old mole! Canst work i' the earth so fast? _Now get moving and keep your mind on the job! Those people are counting on us."

"Okay, okay." John held his hands up in supplication. "I'm impressed. I didn't think you remembered your Shakespeare that well."

And as John ran down the hill to The Mole, Scott realised that he didn't think he'd had either…

_To be continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Bryce Fuller, having driven at speed back from the Puzz mine with several of his employees, came barrelling into the marquee. "International Rescue are about to start digging! Come and see the fantastic machine they've got!" Then, as an excited throng pushed past, he grabbed Verna Obale by the arm. "I thought you were acting as intermediary with International Rescue?"

Verna pulled free. "I am. For your information, I'd just come in here to tell everyone that International Rescue's scanners have picked up signs of life!"

Bryce stared at her. "The children are okay?"

"International Rescue are playing it cautious," Verna admitted. "They said that it could have been an animal they were hearing. Or, if it was the children, they couldn't tell how many are…" she looked around to ensure no one was listening, "still alive…"

"At least that's something positive."

"It is," Verna agreed. "Now, Bryce, if you'll excuse me. I want to see this rescue get underway in earnest."

They reached the car park to find people jostling for each available vantage point. Taking advantage of their twin roles as 'go betweens' with International Rescue, they slipped in behind Scott's windbreak. From here, through the transparent sheet suspended beneath Thunderbird One's nose cone, they had a clear view down to the very odd looking machine that had trundled out from under Thunderbird Two on caterpillar tracks. They were just in time to see the young blonde man who'd been at Mobile Control a few minutes earlier clamber into the drilling machine.

"Okay, Virgil," Scott was saying, "I'm receiving a strength five signal from the Puzz mine. You are clear to start drilling."

A voice, those within earshot presumed that it was 'Virgil', replied with a "F-A-B".

From beneath them, at the bottom of the hill, the sound of a motor revving reverberated around the valley. A second whine filled the air as the giant screw at the front of the weird machine started spinning. The top section of the machine appeared to tilt slightly and then it was sliding forward as the spinning bit devoured the hillside ahead of it. Within the space of thirty seconds the top section had disappeared.

"Wow!" Bryce gasped. "Where can I get one of those for the mine?"

"It's one of a kind, I'm afraid," Scott responded.

"Mole to Mobile Control."

"Go ahead, Mole."

"We've locked onto the signal from the Puzz mine."

"Reading that. Have you located the cage yet?"

"Gordon's getting a fix now… He's got it. Steering one-six-two magnetic."

"Keep it steady. We've got to keep those vibrations to the minimum."

"Under control, Scott."

"Good." Scott thought for a moment. "How much sleep did the others get on the way out here?"

"Alan and Gordon slept most of the way," Virgil replied. "I don't think John got much sleep before you set him to work on the ORB."

Scott heard John's, "I didn't get any."

"Okay," Scott acknowledged. "And you wouldn't have had much sleep over the previous few days, Virg?"

"I've had some… More than you; but not much more."

"In that case I want you and John to have a power nap now and re-charge your batteries. Alan and Gordon can…"

"_You want them to what!?"_

"Back with you in a moment, Mole." Scott stared at the man who'd clearly been listening from behind the windbreak and had stepped in to interrupt the conversation. "I'm sorry, Sir. Do you have a problem?"

"My son's down there! Trapped! Possibly hurt or worse! And you are telling your people to get some sleep!?"

"Marteen, shush," Kyla Batim pulled on her husband's arm. "He knows what he's doing."

"Does he?!" Marteen shook himself free. "It doesn't sound like that to me!" He rounded back on Scott, visibly shaking in rage. "I'm guessing you don't even have children of your own!"

"Marteen…!" Kyla hissed.

"Calm down, Marteen," Bryce said. "Everything's under control."

"You stay out of this!" Marteen bellowed at his boss. "If you'd insisted that that fence was mended when you found the hole, we wouldn't be here now. If you'd done your job the biggest worry I'd have would be whether or not my boy would be asleep in time for Santa Claus to arrive…! Now!" Once again he turned back to Scott. "I want you to your rescind that order!"

"No," Scott said with calm authority. "You may not be aware, Sir, but for the last four days my team have been involved in a rescue in Australia. They'd barely had the opportunity to rest before our assistance was requested here. You may be aware that after 17 hours of sleep deprivation an adult's reaction times are the equivalent of someone whose blood alcohol level is at point five percent. After 24 hours without sleep that increases to the equivalent of a blood alcohol level of one percent. Do you want someone suffering from that level of sleep deprivation attempting to rescue your son…?"

"Listen to him, Marteen," Kyla begged.

Scott hadn't finished pressing his point home. "I take it you work at the mine?"

Starting to lose much of his bluster, Marteen nodded.

"Then you know how insecure the surrounding rock structures can be after a cave-in. As much as we'd like to be able to drill straight down and pull those children out, it's going to be impossible. This rescue is going to take time, a lot of time; and I'd prefer that my men took a few hours now to catch up on their sleep, rather than risk them underperforming and possibly putting not only your children's, but their own lives, at risk later on."

Marteen stared at the ground. "I understand," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry," Scott said quietly. "I wish I could speed things up. But this rescue is going to take hours, if not days. And when we get to the business end of things I want us all to be fresh and ready for any challenges."

Marteen nodded. "I…" He stopped, clearly unsure what his response should be. He opened his mouth again to speak, but didn't say anything. Finally he managed a weak, "I just want Clive home for Christmas."

"I know you do, Sir," Scott admitted. "And I wish I had a magic wand to grant you your wish. But, despite what some in the media write, International Rescue can't work miracles. We're all going to have to accept that this is not going to be one of our more enjoyable Christmas Days and hope that things aren't going to be as bad as we fear."

Kyla threaded her fingers through her husband's, as if she were frightened that he was going to run away and needed to keep him close. "Verna said that you'd picked up signs of life. Do you…" she hesitated as though she was resisting the compulsion to ask her question. "Do you think that it's our children…? Do you think they're still alive?"

Scott looked her in the eye. "I wish I could give you a conclusive answer. Even if it were in the negative, then at least you'd have some certainty." He beckoned her around so that she and Marteen were standing on his side of Mobile Control. "See that readout?" he pointed at one of the many screens. "You can see how it's pulsating. There is a possibility that it is from one or more of your children; from their heartbeats, breathing, movements... It may equally be the result of an animal's activities. Until The Mole reaches the cage we have no way of knowing."

Kyla gave a numb nod. "I understand." She fixed Scott with a sombre stare. "Thank you."

"I promise that I'll get Bryce or Verna to tell you the minute we have more positive news," Scott offered.

"Come on, Kyla… Marteen…" Bryce held the windbreak open. "Let's go back to the marquee and leave International Rescue to get on with their job."

Three subdued people left the relative warmth of the sheltered area beneath Thunderbird One and headed out into the cold.

Scott watched them go feeling grateful that, even if he was separated from his family on Christmas Day, at least he had the certainty of knowing that they were all well.

"Is everything okay, Scott?"

Lost in his reverie, Scott started at the unexpected voice from Mobile Control. "Yeah, everything's fine, Virgil. I just had to try and calm down a worried parent, that's all."

"I don't blame them for being worried," Virgil admitted. "I'd hate to be in their shoes."

"Yeah," Scott agreed. "Me too… Are you ready for your nap?"

"Alan's waiting to take over the controls. I'll talk to you in an hour."

"F-A-B, Virg. Pleasant dreams."

"I've got control, Scott." Now it was Alan speaking. "Continue at present rate?"

Scott's eyes flicked over Mobile Control's readouts. "F-A-B, Alan. No signs of any disturbances but be ready to throttle back."

"F-A-B."

"What do you do for a break?" Scott had forgotten that Verna Obale was still standing beside him. She was looking at him in concern. "Your associate said that you hadn't had much sleep over the last few days."

"I'm all right." Scott patted Mobile Control. "This is the easy job." He winked. "I've trained myself to sleep with my eyes open. You'd never notice the difference."

Verna laughed. "You handled a tricky situation well," she admitted. "I've known Marteen Batim for years, and normally you couldn't find a friendlier, more courteous man. He didn't mean to yell at you. He's worried about his son and those other children."

Scott favoured her with a wry smile. "I thought that might have been the case. In my job I get to see people at the best and at their worst, and I've come to realise that most are reacting the best way they can to a situation that they've never been exposed to before." An alarm sounded on Mobile Control and he diverted his attention to one of the monitors before pulling the microphone close. "Mobile Control to Mole."

"Mole here," Alan responded. "Time to reduce speed?"

"That's what I'm reading. Bring her back point two."

"F-A-B," Alan made the necessary correction and Scott watched the gauge slip back into the green.

"What happened?" Verna asked.

"Vibrations from The Mole," Scott explained. "The ORB will pick up any excess vibrations caused by the drilling. When that happens we've got to slow down so that we don't cause any further cave-ins. That's why this is going to be a long rescue." He sat on Mobile Control's stool.

Verna pulled up the seat beside him and sat down to wait.

---IR---

---F-A-B---

"Come on, Boys. Time for brunch."

Jeff Tracy looked at his mother. "Brunch?!"

She looked at her watch. "Well, it's too late for breakfast and too early for lunch. So I thought we'd have a Christmas Day brunch."

"I'll just have coffee at my desk, thanks," Jeff responded.

She stood square in front of his desk, her hands on her hips, and scowled at him. "You'll have brunch with the rest of us at the dining table!" she ordered. "We have a guest."

Jeff gestured towards the little man who was sitting on one of the sofas. "Santa understands."

"Santa may do, but I don't. It's Christmas, Jeff, and you sitting there like a turkey prepared for the oven isn't going to make your boys come home any quicker. Now come on!"

Jeff sighed. This was her 'and that's an order' tone of voice. For all his years in the Air Force and Astronaut corps, he'd never met an officer as forceful and resolute as his mother. "I'm coming."

"And cheer up," she instructed.

"Yes, Mother."

"That's one thing I've missed about my Christmas rounds," Santa stated as he walked into the dining room. "All that Christmas cake and milk that people leave out for me. My stomach doesn't miss it though!" He patted his rotund abdomen. "And my good lady is very pleased that I've stopped gaining weight!" He laughed and his ample belly rode up and down.

"Won't Mrs Claus be missing you?" Tin-Tin asked.

"This is the busiest time of the year for my family," Santa admitted. "We don't usually sit down for our version of a traditional family get together until about the 6th of January. Then it's time to relax and let our hair down." He looked at the pile of food on the table. "Oh, my. Looks like I'll be starting early."

"Mr Claus," Kyrano held the plate as Santa helped himself to a savoury torte.

"With all five of the boys usually with us on Christmas morning, I like to make sure that I've got plenty of food," Grandma said. "Since this is going to be a long rescue I'll have time to get an order in to the shops before they get back. Eat up, everyone. Dinner won't be anything special. I'm saving the turkeys and hams until the boys are home."

"W-W-Would you like some of this, Mr Tracy?" Brains asked, holding out a dish.

There was no response from his employer.

"M-Mr Tracy?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry, Brains. What did you say?"

Grandma tutted. "Really, Jefferson. The boys will be all right."

"I'm sure they will be, Ma. It's just that, well… it's Christmas. I don't think I've ever had a Christmas where none of them are present." Jeff fixed Santa Claus with a rueful smile. "I hadn't realised how much I'd miss them."

"Christmas is a time for family," was Santa's sage reply.

"Yes," Jeff agreed. "Sometimes one or two of them weren't able to get home, like the year that Gordon spent in the bathyscaphe and John was in the space station, but this is the first time none of them are present."

"Oh, cheer up, Jeff," Grandma said. "At least you got to see them on Christmas Day, even if it was only briefly. Think of all those who don't have that luxury. Think of the families of those children International Rescue are trying to save. Your sons aren't home for a reason, and that reason is to make sure that this Christmas isn't one that those people are going to remember for all the wrong reasons."

---IR---

---F-A-B---

There's not a lot to do when you are controlling a drilling machine that is powering through the earth following a computer generated signal. Alan sat back and looked over his shoulder to where his brother was keeping an eye on the life-support systems. "Do you think we're wasting our time, Gordon?"

The interior of The Mole had been quiet for so long, apart from the electronic beepings of the various computers, that Gordon appeared to be surprised to hear a human voice. "Scott's still getting a readout from the ORB, isn't he?"

"Yes," Alan confirmed. "But how long is this going to take? We've already had to drop speed by five points. We might be too late by the time we get there."

"And a merry Christmas to you too," Gordon retorted. A bell sounded behind them. "Hello. Sounds like our two turkeys are done." He turned as two 'slow-wave sleep generators' slid off from over Virgil and John and they both sat up, blinking away the last vestiges of their dreams. "Sleep well?"

"Uh, huh," Virgil knuckled the sleep from out of his eyes.

"My only complaint," John said as he stretched, "is that I never have a clear recollection of what I've dreamt. I know I was dreaming that I'd invented this new device that was revolutionising the way the world communicated. But all I remember is that I was about to accept the prestigious Slough award from the World President."

"I know what you mean," Virgil agreed. "I was performing at Carnegie Hall. I was getting a standing ovation for this new piece I'd composed… I'm sure I heard every note I played…" He shook his head in disappointment. "I can't remember a single one now."

"As soon as we get back I'm going to ask Brains to do something to help us actually remember our dreams," John stated. He got off the bed and, bracing himself against the downward incline, wandered over to where Alan was sitting. "How are we going?"

"Slowly," Alan said morosely. "We've dropped back five points…" The computer beeped. "Make that six."

"Mobile Control to Mole."

"Mole, here," Alan replied. "We've dropped back another point."

"How far away are we?" Virgil asked, coming to John's side.

"Are those guys awake?" Scott asked.

"No, Virgil's talking in his sleep again," Gordon said. "He's been chatting away about some girl, what was her name, Alan? Tina? Brenda? Sarah?"

"Sereena?"

"I am not and I did not!" Virgil had turned pink. "Don't listen to them, Scott. Now, how far away are we?" He leant over Gordon's shoulder to look at the screen. "Not even half way?"

"No," Scott confirmed. "I'll call back soon."

"Do you guys want to have a break and swap places?" John asked. A short time later he was operating the main control unit and Virgil had replaced Gordon at the life-support systems console.

"Now what do we do?" Gordon asked Alan. "I don't need to catch up on my sleep; I'm not tired."

"Me neither," Alan agreed. "But what I am is getting hungry. I'll go see what 'delicious inedibles' we've got packed in the store."

Gordon flopped onto one of the red seats. "Sawdust and cardboard. Some Christmas dinner this is going to be," he grumbled. "When I think of all the baking Grandma's been doing over the last few days…"

"Hey! Look at this!" Alan exclaimed, coming out of the store cupboard. "Four Christmas lunches."

"What! You're kidding!?" Gordon jumped to his feet and grabbed one of the meals. "_Christmas lunch_," he read before flipping the box over to read instructions on the underside of the packet. "_Pull tab slowly_," he fingered a bit of the packaging that protruded from the bottom of the box. "_Wait five minutes and then peel back top. Caution: Meal may be hot._"

"There's four Christmas dinners in there too," Alan said eagerly. "It looks like Brains thought of everything this year."

"The test is in the tasting," Gordon replied as he pulled on the tab of his meal. "Hey, I can feel this warming up already. Do you guys want yours now?" he asked his two brothers at the front of The Mole.

"I'll wait until you've fin…" John began until enticing smells wafted around him. "Then again..."

"That can't be one of Brains' inventions," Virgil said. "It smells too good."

"And why would he pack four meals into The Mole?" John asked.

"In case we found ourselves in this situation," Alan replied, looking anxiously at his watch.

"Come on, Alan. It doesn't make sense," John persisted. "Are you trying to tell me that Brains packed four meals in here on the off chance that four of us might be tunnelling on Christmas Day?"

Virgil looked at his elder brother. "That's a good point. Why not five, in case Scott came with us?"

"Or, since we usually only have two on board," Gordon added, "why not only two meals?"

Alan tore his attention away from the ticking seconds. "And there's no guarantee that we'd be using The Mole. What if Gordon was in Thunderbird Four?"

"Or we had to use the Firefly or the Domo?" Virgil asked. "Or you guys were in Thunderbird Three? You can't tell me he's made enough Christmas lunches…"

"And Christmas dinners," Alan interrupted.

"And Christmas dinners, to go into every one of our machines," Virgil finished. "Why not just make five and tell us to divide them between us before we started the rescue?"

Four brothers looked at each other, mystified.

Alan looked back at his watch. "That's five minutes." Taking care to avoid the steam that was rising from his meal, he pulled back the cover. The mouth watering aromas intensified. "If this tastes half as good as it smells…" he dug his fork into the meal and took a cautious mouthful. His brothers watched as he chewed. A smile spread over his face. "This is great! Nearly as good as Grandma's!"

"That's good enough for me," Gordon tucked in.

John and Virgil looked at each other, shrugged, and pulled the tabs on their meals.

---F-A-B---

Scott, still working at Mobile Control, became aware that someone was watching him. Turning his head he realised that a small girl, wearing torn, dirty clothes and with several scratches and bruises to her face, was standing there, clutching a crumpled piece of paper and regarding him with solemn eyes. He smiled at her. "Hello."

"Are you 'Nashunal Rescue?"

"I'm a member of International Rescue, yes. My name's Scott." Scott had already guessed the answer to his next question. "What's your name?"

"Jenni."

"Hello, Jenni." Realising that neither Bryce nor Verna were present to take Jenni back to her parents, Scott continued talking. "I hear you were a brave girl and got help for your friends."

Her round eyes moved from him to Mobile Control and back again. "Steffen says you've got the fastest plane in the world."

"Steffen's right. I do. Thunderbird One. We're sitting under her now."

Jenni didn't follow the line of his outstretched finger. Instead she looked at the piece of paper in her hand and then back up at him. "I've written a letter to Santa Claus to ask him to help Tara and Liam." She held the paper out to Scott. "Can you take it to him, please?"

"Oh, Honey." Scott felt his heart go out to this little girl. "I'm sorry, but I can't leave here. The men in the digging machine might need my help." He watched her face fall. "It's not easy knowing that your siblings are stuck underground, is it?"

"What's a sibing?"

"Sibling. That's a word that means your brother or your sister. Just like parent means your mother or your father."

Jenni nodded. She must have seen the empathy in his face because she said, "are your sib… siling… brothers in the digging machine?"

Scott hesitated. Then, deciding that it wouldn't hurt, he winked, nodded, and held a finger to his lips. "But it's a secret, okay. A secret between the two of us. If my boss found out that I'd told you, I'd get into trouble."

Jenni nodded and the ghost of a smile appeared on her lips. "Then Santa wouldn't visit you."

"Yes," Scott agreed, thinking that Santa already had visited and then wondered why he'd entertained that idea.

A voice was heard from outside their shelter. "Jenni… Jenni…!"

"She's in here," Scott called.

"Jenni! There you are!" Jeanne bustled inside and hurried over to her daughter. "What are you doing annoying this man? He's busy."

"It's okay," Scott reassured the worried mother. "She's not been any trouble. Jenni asked me to take a letter to Santa. I've told her I can't do that, but I can do something else… See this?" he said to Jenni, patting Mobile Control, "This has a hotline to Santa Claus."

"Hot line?" Jenni frowned and reached out to the console, touching it gingerly. "It doesn't feel hot."

Scott chuckled. "I mean I can use it to send messages directly to Santa. Here…" He pushed a button and a clear tray popped out. He opened up the clamshell sections of the tray and held it at Jenni's level. "Put your letter face down on this," he explained. "That's it…" He helped her place the letter in position and then lowered the top down so the paper was sandwiched between the two halves. "Now I slide it back into the letter reader…" he replaced the tray into Mobile Control, "and now we let Santa Claus know that it's coming."

Jenni watched him with eyes filled with wonder.

Scott pulled the microphone closer, pushed a button and initiated contact with base. "This is Mobile Control. I am sending through a message for Santa Claus."

---F-A-B---

Back in the lounge on Tracy Island a printer chattered into life. "Ah!" Santa exclaimed. "That must be my letter from Jenni Teeasi. May I speak to her, Jeff?"

"Of course." Jeff left his seat at the desk and allowed Santa to take his place. "Push this button to be put through to Mobile Control." He picked up the printout that still lay face down on the printer. "Do you want this?"

"No. I know what it says," Santa assured him.

---F-A-B---

Jeanne and Jenni had already begun to walk away from Mobile Control; Jenni excitedly telling her mother that everything was going to be all right now because Santa would help, when Scott answered a beeped signal. "Mobile Con…" His voice petered out when he saw the caller.

"Ah, Scott," Santa beamed at him. "Could I have a word with Jenni, please?"

"Um… F-A, ah, okay," Scott replied, unsure what to make of this development. He decided that for the little girl's sake he'd play along. "Jenni!" he called, rushing to the entrance to the windbreak. "Santa Claus wants to speak to you."

"Santa!" Jenni released her grip on her mother's hand and ran back to the man from International Rescue. "Where?" She stood on tip-toe, her blue woolly hat with white polar bears just visible over the console.

"Here," Scott picked her up and placed her on his seat. "Mind you don't fall off."

"Santa!" Jenni squealed; seeing the snowy-bearded face with the ruddy complexion, granny glasses and red hat. "Marda, look! It's Santa!"

"Hello, Jenni," Santa said. "Hello, Jeanne."

"Hello, Santa," Jeanne replied. Smiling the smile that parents have when they are indulging their children's fantasies, she put her arm around Jenni to ensure that her daughter didn't get overexcited and slip off the seat.

"Did you get my letter, Santa?" Jenni asked.

"I've got your letter, Jenni," Santa confirmed. "When I received it I thought, _'ah, here's the letter I've been expecting from that nice little Jenni that I met earlier today at her Parda's work's party.'_"

"You remember me?!" Jenni's round eyes were evidence of her amazement.

"I do.Doyou remember talking to me?"

"I remember," Jenni replied, clapping her hands together in joy.

Scott standing to one side, watched Jenni glow with excitement and tried to remember if he'd ever felt like that…

"You were wearing that pretty red dress with the white trim," Santa was saying.

"Yes! My Santa dress!"

"But now you're dressed in something warmer, aren't you?"

Jenni nodded emphatically. "Marda said I had to."

"You asked me for a Mindy doll, didn't you?"

"Yes!"

"And Liam wanted a train set…"

"Yes!"

"And Tara wanted some make-up?"

Jeanne groaned. "They grow up so quickly."

"They do," Santa agreed. "They grow up and forget about old Santa Claus. Darrell didn't want to talk to me, did he, Jenni? He thought he was too grown up to speak to me. Steffen had to drag him up to see me." His eyes shifted to Scott. "A lot of boys think they are too grown up to believe in Santa Claus."

It was at that moment that Scott realised that he didn't know what to believe.

Jenni was nodding. "Darrell's a silly billy."

"You're not silly though, are you, Jenni? You're a good girl and I've always had you on my 'good girl' list. I know that you help Tara feed Alleb. Alleb is Jenni's dog, Scott. She's a big black dog with white paws. Isn't that right, Jenni?"

"Yes," Jenni agreed happily and Scott, feeling like he was trapped in an episode of 'the Twilight Zone', looked between them in amazement.

"And you help Liam clear Alleb's dirty plates away so they can be washed."

"Yes," Jenni repeated, her face alight with wonder.

"And you all help brush Alleb. I know Alleb enjoys it when you brush her. It helps remove all the loose hair that tickles her."

"She smiles at me when I brush her," Jenni recollected.

"I also know that you are a very brave girl, Jenni," Santa was saying. "You were very brave to run to get help for Liam, and Tara, and Steffen, and Clive, and Darrell. You must be very proud of your daughter, Jeanne."

Jeanne squeezed Jennie with affection. "I am."

"Now, we are keeping Scott from his work," Santa said. "And I think it's past your bedtime, young lady."

"If I go to sleep will Liam and Tara be there when I wake up?"

"I can't promise you that," Santa stated. "But what I can promise you, Jenni, is that I will do all I can to help International Rescue bring Tara and Liam and your friends back to you."

With the innocence of childhood and her utmost faith in Santa Claus' abilities, Jenni beamed at him. "Thank you, Santa."

"And thank you for being such a lovely little girl. Goodbye, Jeanne."

"Goodbye, Santa," Jeanne smiled. "And thank you."

"Bye, Jenni. Pleasant dreams."

Jenni waved. "Bye, bye, Santa."

"I'll see you when you get home, Scott."

"Uh," caught up in a dream of his own, Scott blinked. "Right. See you later, ah… Santa."

The screen went blank.

"Thank you!" Scott suddenly found himself being half-throttled by a young girl as Jenni threw her arms about him in a joyous embrace. Not quite sure what he was supposed to do under the circumstances, he gave her a gentle hug in return.

"Come on, Jenni, leave the nice man alone," Jeanne reprimanded tenderly. "You promised Santa you'd try to get some sleep."

"Yes, Marda." Jenni released Scott and clambered down off the seat. "Bye, bye, Scott."

"Bye, Jenni. Have a good sleep."

"You too."

'_Chance would be a fine thing,'_ Scott thought as he turned his attention back to Mobile Control. It beeped. Sighing he activated the radio. "Mobile Control to Mole."

"Back another point two?" John queried.

"Back another point two."

---F-A-B---

Santa Claus rubbed his hands together in satisfaction and clambered down off Jeff's chair. "She'll go to sleep now."

"At least that's one little girl who's happy," Jeff noted. "How did you know all that about the Christmas party?"

"I was there," Santa replied. "The booked 'Santa' couldn't make it, so I filled in for him."

"And all that stuff about the dog?"

"I'm Santa Claus, Jeff." Santa spread his arms wide. "I know everything about all little children." He winked. "And some big ones as well."

---F-A-B---

Scott pushed a button on Mobile Control. Two clear sheets of plastic with a piece of paper sandwiched between popped out of the console. He opened the tray, removed the page, and turned it over.

_Dear Santa_

_Please make Tara and Liam and Darl and Stefin and Cliv come home_

_Love Jenni Teeasi_

_XOXO_

"Knock, knock."

Scott looked up, expecting the visitor to be Verna or Bryce, but was surprised to see that it was Jeanne Hamilton. He smiled at her. "Come in."

"I hope I'm not disturbing you, Mr ah… Scott."

His smile morphed into a grin. "You're not disturbing me, Mrs Jenni's Mother."

"Oh, sorry…" She blushed. "I'm Jeanne."

"And I'm Scott. Don't worry about the 'mister' bit. The rescue business is too fast moving to waste time with social niceties… usually." He held out the piece of paper. "I was just reading Jenni's letter to Santa."

She gave him a nervous smile as she took the letter. "I just wanted to say thank you for what you did for Jenni. She went to sleep believing that she spoken to the real Santa Claus."

"She's a pretty special little girl."

"Yes... At least I think so," Jeanne admitted. "I've left Harri, that's her father, sitting by the bed we made up for her in the marquee. He doesn't want to leave her… Not unless he's able to help in some way. I'm… We're so grateful that Jenni didn't get into that cage. It's hard enough… not knowing…" Her voice broke and she searched her pockets for a handkerchief. Scott, always prepared for such emergencies, handed her a box of tissues. "Sorry," she apologised as she tried to get herself back under control.

"Don't apologise," Scott told her. "This situation isn't easy for anyone, but it's especially trying for parents."

"I was curious," Jeanne began, trying to concentrate on other things in an effort to regain her composure, "how did 'Santa' know all about Jenni and today's party?"

This was something that Scott had been pondering himself, especially after seeing that letter, but he wasn't about to reveal his own ignorance. "Intelligent guesswork," he stated. "You were all at your work's Christmas party and children were present, so you were bound to have a Santa Claus there for the kids. Mindy dolls are the 'must-have' toy for this Christmas," he guessed, never having heard of the toy before. "Most young boys want a train set and girls approaching their teens want make up. And, if you're a 13-year-old boy, the last thing you want is your younger brother dragging you up to see Santa Claus. Trust me on this," he winked. "I've been there!"

Jeanne laughed. Then her brow creased in thought. "But how did he know about Jenni's 'Santa dress' and Alleb?"

Scott was stumped. So he said the only thing that he felt he could under the circumstances. "Now, Jeanne. Surely you're not asking me to reveal not only International Rescue's secrets, but Santa Claus' secrets as well?"

"Oh, no!" Jeanne gasped, horrified at the idea. Then she laughed. "I'm being silly," she laughed again. "It must be the stress." She sighed. "I must thank you again. You're making me feel so much better."

"All part of the service."

She handed back the remaining tissues. "I hope you don't mind me saying so," she said hesitantly, "but you're looking tired. Can I do anything to help? Can I get you anything? Is there anyone to take over from you while you get some sleep?"

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm okay," Scott said. "Lack of sleep is par for the course in this job. So long as those guys in The Mole are fresh enough when the crunch comes, that's all that matters. I'm just here to let you all know what's going on."

"I'm sure you do more than that," Jeanne replied. "I've held you up long enough and I'd better get back to Jenni and Harri, but I am serious. If I can do anything to help you, please ask. It's the least I can do since you and your team are trying to help save my children." She moved towards the entrance, but then turned back. "You know," she remarked, "I'm beginning to believe that there really is a Santa Claus. Except he wears blue, not red." She smiled at the man from International Rescue and then stepped outside.

Scott sat quietly for a moment, reflecting on what had been said during the course of the evening. Then Mobile Control beeped again and he frowned in frustration at the disembodied voice's words.

"Back another point two…"

_To be continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Verna Obale entered the windbreak beneath Thunderbird One. "How's it going?" she asked Scott.

He gave her a rueful smile. "Slowly."

She held out a mug of steaming fragrant coffee. "I thought you might like something to keep you warm and awake."

Scott accepted the mug gratefully. "Thanks."

Verna raised her own mug. "Merry Christmas." He must have looked surprised because she added, "It's after midnight. It's Christmas Day."

Scott looked at Mobile Control's local-time chronometer. "So it is. I'm so wrapped up in what we're here for that I'd forgotten the date."

"Was it already Christmas when you left home, or hadn't it arrived yet?" Verna asked. Then she checked herself. "Whoops! No, forget I asked that. I suppose it comes under classified information about International Rescue."

Scott chuckled. "Afraid so."

"I don't suppose it makes much difference anyway," Verna admitted. "Whenever it is you're not going to be spending it with your friends and family. You're not even getting to spend it with your colleagues… In fact, you're not having much of a Christmas at all!"

Scott shrugged, his professional demeanour disguising the fact that a large part of him was indeed disappointed at being separated from his family.

"I'm sorry you've been dragged away from your Christmas," Verna waffled on. "I suppose being on call on Christmas Day must be one of the drawbacks to being part of International Rescue… And hard on your families."

"It can be," Scott agreed. "But if we all remember that by helping someone we're giving them a pretty special Christmas present, it helps put everything into perspective."

"How far away are your team from the cage?"

Scott checked a monitor. "Almost halfway."

Verna gestured towards Mobile Control. "Are you still getting a reading from your ORB thing?"

Scott looked at the indicated screen. "Yes." He glanced at his watch. "There's been no change to it since we started. I'm not sure whether that's a good sign or a bad one."

"You would expect changes if it were the children?"

"Usually," he admitted. "They've been trapped in an airless space for hours. I would expect some change since they've probably been exposed to a decrease in oxygen and an associated increase in carbon dioxide. Even if they were getting fresh air, their combined body heat would make them pretty lethargic, changing their breathing and heart-rate patterns."

"So you think your seeing an animal?" Verna guessed.

"No. Even that doesn't make sense. The patterns are too consistent. I would have thought that an animal would have picked up the Mole's vibrations and taken fright; but there've been no changes whatsoever." Scott shrugged. "I can't explain it. I can only hope that Christmas miracles do happen."

---F-A-B---

"How long have we been down here?" Alan griped.

"About four hours," John responded. There was a sound in the cabin and he turned from the Mole's control panel. "What _is_ he doing?"

Gordon was sitting on one of the seats with his legs tucked up so he was able to rest a notebook on his knees. He was wearing a pair of headphones and every now and then he would chortle to himself, pause whatever it was he was listening to, make a note in the book, and then switch the player on again.

Virgil watched his younger brother. "I hate to think. He's clearly plotting something judging by that grin he's got on his face."

"Do you know anything, Alan?" John asked.

"Me? No." Alan shook his head. "He did say that he had something planned. But…"

Virgil pounced on this titbit of information. "What?"

"Spill it, Alan," John commanded.

"I don't know," Alan insisted. "I only know that he thought of something while we were getting the reindeer feed from Thunderbird One's hangar. The only information that I could get out of him was that it wasn't me that he had in his sights. That and the fact that he didn't consider his plan to be bad enough to put him back on Santa's naughty list."

"But you think he's planning something against somebody?" Virgil asked.

"Yep. In Gordon's words, he was going to '_spread a little Christmas cheer_'."

John groaned. "The mind boggles."

"If it will put your boggling minds at rest," the voice came from the seat at the back of the cabin, "I'm not planning anything against any of you guys."

"Then what are you planning, Gordon?" Virgil demanded.

"Nothing you need to worry about," Gordon responded, removing his headphones. "…Yet," he added. "But I might need your services, Virg."

"Mine?" Virgil's eyes narrowed. "Doing what? You know I'm no good at practical jokes."

"Relax. It's not a practical joke," Gordon reassured him. "It's just a… joke joke."

"A joke joke," John repeated dead-pan. He shook his head. "I wonder if I can get leave to go straight back to Thunderbird Five when we've finished here."

"I'll take you," Alan offered. "Anything to get out of the house for a few hours."

Gordon snapped off the music player, stood and stretched. "I'm feeling hungry. I wonder if Brains has hidden any other goodies back here." He disappeared into the store cupboard.

"What could _I_ help him with?" Virgil wondered as he made a slight adjustment to the life-support systems.

"Don't ask," Alan advised. "Maybe he'll have forgotten by the time we've finished."

John snorted. "Yeah, right."

"Hey! Look at this!" They turned to look in the direction of the muffled voice. "Crackers!"

"Water or Animal?" Alan asked.

"Neither," Gordon emerged from the cupboard. He was holding four brightly coloured cylindrical tubes. Each tube appeared to be roughly 20 centimetres long, about five centimetres in diameter, and pinched in four centimetres from each end. "Christmas."

His brothers stared at the four silver, red and green Christmas novelties. Christmas crackers had been part of the Tracy family Christmas tradition ever since Scott had bought a couple of packs home with him from England after his tenure at Oxford University. Lady Penelope, having discovered this custom, had routinely purchased boxes of the novelties from Harrods as gifts for the family; and this year's present was already residing under their Christmas tree at home.

"Why put four Christmas crackers in the Mole?" John muttered. "This is getting weirder and weirder."

If Gordon heard him he didn't respond. "There're no names on them. Here," sprayed in a fan shape, he held the four crackers out to Alan, "pick one."

Tentatively, as if he was expecting it to bite, or at least explode, Alan selected a cracker. He examined it closely.

"Your turn, Virgil," Gordon instructed, holding out the three bon-bons.

Virgil declined to make a choice. "I don't know that we should, Gordon. It doesn't seem right that we should be enjoying ourselves. Not when those kids are in trouble."

"Relax, Virg!" Gordon rejoined. "We haven't been able to do anything for hours, and we're not going to be able to do anything for hours. Sitting here, stewing over it, isn't going to help anyone. Now chill out and pick a cracker."

"Well…" Virgil eyed up the cylinders that his brother was offering him. "This isn't one of your tricks, is it?"

Gordon looked affronted. "Of course it's not! I haven't seen them before."

Using the tips of his fingers and then holding it at arms length, Virgil took a cracker.

"Left or right, John?" Gordon asked, holding the two remaining crackers behind his back.

John glanced at Virgil and Alan and then back at Gordon before responding with an uncertain, "left."

Grinning, Gordon handed him the cracker that had been held in his left hand. "Now, who wants to help me pull mine?" He was answered by a resounding silence. "Come on, Fellas. I swear I've never seen these before. Alan," he pleaded, "grab the other end." He held out his Christmas cracker in the accepted manner.

Alan hesitated. Then he looked at his two eldest brothers present. "You'll give me a good funeral?"

"With more trimmings than a Christmas turkey," John assured him.

"Oh, come on, Alan," Gordon complained. "Pull the thing."

Wondering what he was letting himself in for, Alan grasped the other end of Gordon's cracker. There was a bang of an acceptable volume, a small shower of confetti, and Gordon's Christmas cracker snapped into two. He pounced on the little parcel that fell out and slid across the downward-sloping floor. "What have I got?" He removed a ribbon and then unrolled the orange paper crown that was wrapped around the package. After pulling the hat onto his head he unfurled a piece of white paper. _"Why did Frosty go to live in the middle of the ocean?_"

Silence.

Gordon looked at his brothers. "Well?"

"We don't know, Gordon," John stated.

Alan agreed. "Why did Frosty go to live in the middle of the ocean?"

Gordon read the answer and burst out laughing._"Because snow man is an island!__" His brothers rolled their eyes as he unwrapped the final brightly coloured parcel. "What else have we got?" His face lit up. "A stink bomb!"_

_"No!" John exclaimed. "Take it off him quick!"_

"Give it to me, Gordon," Virgil instructed, making a grab for the novelty.

Laughing, Gordon jumped up onto one of the seats and held the joke high out of Virgil's reach. "Make me!"

"Get it, Virgil!" John commanded. "Don't let him use it."

"I'm trying!" Virgil insisted; chasing his brother as Gordon bounded from one seat to another. "Help me, Alan!"

"Guys," Alan replied calmly from his seat where he'd been watching his brothers' escapades. "We're inside the Mole. It's an enclosed cylinder. He's not going to set it off in here because he won't be able to escape the smell either."

"Oh." Subdued, Virgil returned to his place at the life-support systems console. "I didn't think of that."

If he was going to admit the truth, which he wasn't, Gordon hadn't thought of that either; he'd simply been enjoying teasing his brothers. "Never mind, Virgil," he said magnanimously. "Would you like me to help you pull your cracker?"

Virgil, still disgruntled and feeling like an idiot, held the amusement out. "If this thing explodes in my face, Gordon…" There was a pop and the cracker split in two. Virgil picked up its spilt contents and pulled out a yellow paper crown.

"Put it on, Virg," Gordon insisted.

"I've already made a fool of myself once. Isn't that enough?"

"Nope," Gordon grinned. "Put it on."

With less than Christmas cheer, Virgil pulled the yellow hat onto his head and then unrolled the joke. "_What does Santa get if he gets stuck sliding down a chimney?_" No one attempted an answer. "_Claustrophobia_." Everyone groaned. "I see the jokes are up to their usual high standard this year… What's the gift?" He unwrapped it and brightened when several plastic pieces constrained in a plastic bag fell onto his hand. "A snap together model! I always loved these things."

"Come on, Virgil," John held out his cracker. "Help me pull mine." After the pop, the confetti and he'd retrieved his packet, he put on his violet paper crown.

"Very fetching, Darhling," Gordon teased.

John ignored him. _"If athletes get athletes foot, what do astronauts get?_" Mystified his brothers looked at him. "_Missiletoe…_ These jokes get worse every year!" He unrolled the final part to the cracker and several sheets of stickers fell out. "_Glow in the dark stars_," he read and smiled. "Now that's one of the better gifts I've seen in these things… Your turn, Alan."

Alan was staring at his unused cracker, turning it over slowly in his hands. "Why do I get the feeling that I already know what's in here?"

"Huh?" John stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"Look at what you guys got," Alan instructed. "Your hats all match your sashes, your gifts are all something that you, but not necessarily someone else, would get some enjoyment out of… And the jokes are all terrible..."

"No surprises there," Gordon chuckled.

"But they were all relevant to you or your interests," Alan insisted.

"Coincidence?" Virgil suggested.

"Before I open it," Alan held his cracker out to John. "See if there's anything on there linking it to me."

"You're giving me a case of the chills, Alan," John warned. He took the cracker and examined it closely. Then he compared its wrapper with the remains of his own. "I can't see any differences." He held the cracker out to his youngest brother. "Let's see what you've got."

There was a pop, a shower of confetti, and the parcel, tied up in ribbon, lay on the floor. Its exterior wrapping, the paper crown, was white.

The brothers stared at the innocuous parcel. "We have just entered the 'Twilight Zone'," Gordon stated.

"See what's inside, Alan," Virgil prompted.

"Okay…" Alan untied the ribbon and, after a moment's hesitation, donned the white hat. He read the joke and a smile crept onto his lips. "This one's not bad. _How do we know Santa is such a good race car driver?_"

"We don't know, Alan," John replied. "What's the answer?"

Alan chuckled. "_Because he's always in the pole position!__"_

_Gordon groaned. "Only a tarmac-jockey could find amusement in that one."_

_"What's the gift?" Virgil asked._

_Alan unwrapped the final gift and held it up for all to see. "A toy car." He ran the red convertible across his hand._

_"Has someone got a calendar?" Gordon asked. "I think we've travelled back in time from Christmas to Halloween!"_

---IR---

---F-A-B—

"…And still the world waits for news on the fate of the five children trapped in the Blaque Hill mine on the outskirts of the small town of Puzz. It has been over seventeen hours since International Rescue started the rescue. Seventeen long hours and there are those who are beginning to question whether or not it would have been quicker for local rescue services to use more conventional methods… I am joined by Bryce Fuller, manager of the Puzz mine… Thank you for agreeing to be interviewed, Bryce."

Bryce Fuller, clearly made nervous by the microphone jammed under his nose, mumbled "'Smy pleasure."

"Could you and your team of trained mine rescue specialists reached those children before now?"

Bryce shook his head. "No. Just as International Rescue are doing, we would have had to dig. We don't have the digging equipment that they possess and, to a large extent, would have had to rely on manual labour."

"So you are happy with the way International Rescue are proceeding with this rescue?"

Bryce nodded. "I am. International Rescue do this kind of thing all the time. Our rescue team are fully trained, but don't have actual experience. They would have exposed themselves, and the children, to continuous danger all the time that they were underground."

"I understand that you and one of the men from International Rescue were nearly caught out by a rock fall earlier."

"Well…" Bryce prevaricated. "I wouldn't say 'caught out'. We were both aware of the potential dangers when we went into the mine. That's why he…"

"What's the mood like up in the marquee?"

"Pretty tense. We've got some worried families and friends up there."

"Do they have any concerns about International Rescue's methods?"

Bryce gave an emphatic shake of his head. "No! They are frustrated that they can't help and that they're not getting any news about their children, but they don't have any con…"

"Thank you, Bryce Fuller, mine manager of the Puzz mine located near the abandoned Blaque Hill mine…"

Bryce frustrated by the interviewer's abrupt manner and line of questioning, glared at him and then stalked away.

The interviewer turned back to the camera. "Over the past few years, we have become accustomed to International Rescue effecting rescues successfully and at high speed. But, the length of time that this rescue is taking has many observers wondering if perhaps this time will be one of those rare occasions when International Rescue will fail. Although infrequent, failures have happened in the past. The first, well publicised occasion was…"

"We know full well when that was…" Jeff Tracy snapped off the television set. "We don't need to be reminded!"

"Why does he want to repeat International Rescue's failures?" Tin-Tin asked. "We're doing our best. It's as if he's trying to make people believe we're going to fail."

"He's the sort who thinks the only good news is bad news," Grandma Tracy snorted.

"Don't worry about him," Jeff advised. "It's been a long seventeen hours, everything's happening underground, and they can't film International Rescue. They're trying to keep everyone interested in the story until something tangible happens. Isn't that right, Santa…?"

The videophone rang and Jeff answered it with as big a smile as he could muster. "Merry Christmas, Penny."

"Merry Christmas, Jeff. I thought I'd make a quick call to wish you and your family season's greetings before Parker and I take to the piste."

"That's right," Jeff recollected. "You're in Germany for Christmas this year."

"Courtesy of His Royal Highness the High Baran of Mikon. Dear Titch throws the most delightful parties."

"I can't imagine Parker taking much interest in skiing."

"I've given him the day off. I understand he's, ah, going to have a 'right knees up' with some of the lodge's off duty staff. Ah…" Lady Penelope looked off screen. "Here is Parker now. Would you care to wish Mr Tracy a merry Christmas, Parker?"

"Don' mind h-if h-I do." Lady Penelope's visage panned out of shot and Parker's face filled the screen. "Merry Christmas, Mr Tracy."

"Merry Christmas, Parker. Enjoy your day off."

"H-I h-intend to… H-I 'ear your not 'avin' much h-of h-a family Christmas."

"No," Jeff agreed. "But then, neither are those families we're helping."

"Jeff?" Lady Penelope's voice sounded concerned and the view shifted slightly so she was in shot with Parker standing at her shoulder. "Have your services been required?"

"Afraid so, Penny. Five kids trapped down a mine shaft. The boys have been crawling towards them in The Mole for the last seventeen and a bit hours and I'm not expecting to see them any time soon."

"Oh, dear. Well, if Parker and I can be of any help…"

Jeff chuckled. "I know, you'll be there quicker than Scott in Thunderbird One. No, there's nothing you can do. You and Parker enjoy the holiday and recharge your batteries so that you're ready when we do need you."

Lady Penelope smiled. "F-A-B, Jeff. Give our love to everyone and wish them all a merry Christmas, whenever you get to enjoy it."

"Thanks, Penny. I'll pass your message onto the boys when they get home."

"And we shall be simply glued to the radio until we hear they have been successful. Frohe Weihnachten, Jeff."

"Yeah," Parker agreed. "Fro-he Whynotin, Mr Tracy."

Jeff chuckled again. "Merry Christmas to you too."

---IR---

---F-A-B—

Scott tried to suppress the yawn that threatened to split his face in two, and failed. He attempted to focus on one of the buttons on Mobile Control, but was disconcerted to see the silhouettes of two teapots hover side-by-side, merge into one, and then fly off past each other.

It wasn't as if he'd resisted sleep, on the contrary, now that his two 'helpers' had deserted him, leaving one of Bryce's two way radios, he'd taken the opportunity to try and have a power-nap of his own. He did consider sneaking away into Thunderbird One for half an hour, but couldn't bring himself to leave Mobile Control unattended.

So, here he was, trying to catch a few Zs on the fly. But it seemed that every time his eyelids grew heavy, every time he'd let his chin fall onto his chest, there'd be a beep from Mobile Control and a report that The Mole was reducing speed yet again.

It had been eighteen hours since they'd started this rescue and now it was beginning to feel as if they were going backwards…

---F-A-B---

Where Scott had failed, Alan and Gordon had succeeded; with the assistance of the slow-wave sleep generators.

Alan was driving along a long straight road. He could feel the wind in his hair, the sun on his face, and the thrill of the speed and power being unleashed by the scarlet convertible that was responding to the slightest twitch of his fingertips. Beside him, wearing a Sugar-Plum Fairy's outfit, which left little to the imagination and would never have graced the stage of any reputable ballet company, was Tin-Tin. He turned his face towards her and smiled…

Gordon's dream could hardly be described as more innocent than his brother's. He was at the point of unleashing his grandest practical joke ever. Involving a stink bomb, a FAB1 coloured Thunderbird Two with a pod full of feathers, the World President, a sack full of Gummi Bears, and an unsuspecting Ned Cook presenting his television show; this was going to be Gordon's pièce de résistance, his crowning glory: the Everest of all pranks! If the Tracy family had known what he had in mind they would have been trying to stop him, and if that failed, denying all relationships with him. Wrapped up in the buzz of pre-prank expectations, Gordon chuckled in his sleep.

John had deserted his post at the life-support systems console and had decided to stretch his legs with a few laps of The Mole. Now he stood between his brothers, looking down on the sleeping pair. "You know how I said that I was going to ask Brains to come up with something so that we could remember our dreams after being under the slow-wave sleep generators?"

Virgil turned away from the main console. "Yes?"

"I've changed my mind."

"Why?"

John indicated the sleeping twosome. "Look at their faces! I think there are probably some instances when it's better off not knowing."

Virgil grinned. "What do you think they're dreaming about?"

John bent down to examine his brothers closer. "Alan's probably doing something obscene to Tin-Tin and Gordon's…" Gordon chuckled again. "I don't think I want to know…" The buzzer sounded and John scooted back to his seat. He was sitting there innocently when the younger men yawned, sat up and stretched.

"Are we there yet?" Gordon asked.

"About three quarters of the way," Virgil replied. "Pleasant dreams?"

Gordon shrugged. "I can't remember. I think I was planning something." He frowned. "Something big!"

"I think I was going for a drive," Alan said. He picked up the car he'd won in his Christmas cracker. "I think it was in this."

An irritatingly familiar sound beeped from the main console and as one the four Tracys groaned. "If we go any slower," Gordon griped, "We'll be standing still. There must be something we can do. Maybe the ORB's too sensitive to vibrations. Just because it's picking us up, doesn't mean that we're going to bring the whole mine down on those kids."

"I'll ask Scott." Virgil opened up a communications channel. "Mole to Mobile Control."

"…Cobile… Montrol here."

Virgil frowned. "We've backed off another half point."

"… Right…"

"Have you got any sleep yet?"

The answer was evident in Scott's voice. "… Shleep? No… 'm 'kay."

"Are you sure?"

"…Shure…"

"Get some sleep, Scott."

"…Shleep…" Scott slurred again. "Mole won' le' me." There was a dry chuckle.

"We'll be okay for an hour, Scott," Virgil pressed. "Go and get some sleep in Thunderbird One…"

"…'m 'kay…"

"…Or, better still, use one of the beds in Thunderbird Two…"

"…Nno…"

"Scott!"

"…Mobile… Conrol… out."

"Scott…" Virgil grabbed at the disconnected microphone. "Scott!" He turned in his seat and looked at his brothers who had gathered around. "He's sounding tired."

"That!" John said with emphasis, "has got to be the understatement of the decade. One of us should have stayed up there with him." He sighed in frustration. "Well, it's too late to second guess that decision. But I wish he'd forget about us and the children and go and get some sleep."

"I tried to tell him that," Virgil said. "You heard me. He can be a stubborn as a mule when he wants."

"And he's worse when he's tired," Gordon agreed.

"Tell you what," Alan suggested. "I'm fresh..."

"We know," Gordon sniggered. "We keep on hearing complaints from Tin-Tin."

Alan ignored him. "Why don't I take the hoverjet and head back up? I'll man Mobile Control while Scott catches some Zs and then come back down again. The speed we're moving I won't hold things up much."

"Scott won't accept that idea," Virgil noted.

"He won't if we tell him," John responded. "But if he doesn't know until Alan gets there, what's he going to do about it?"

"So I'm going?" Alan asked.

"You're going," John confirmed.

"And if he complains, just remind him that we won't let him fly Thunderbird One home if he hasn't had enough sleep," Gordon said.

---F-A-B---

Scott sighed and sat back in his chair. He rubbed his eyes, which he knew must be red from lack of sleep. As they closed a picture of Jenni Teeasi, standing on his chair, her face alight with the thrill of talking to the '_real'_ Santa Claus, came back to him.

When had he last seen such delight? Had _he_ ever been that excited about meeting someone?

He remembered the days when his brothers had been children and believed in Santa. A vision of Alan was clearest. A young boy… about Jenni's age… his unruly mop of blonde hair and baby-blue eyes staring up at his big brother…

"_Can we go thee Thanta, Thcotty?" _This particular Christmas Alan could have been the inspiration for the iconic song, 'All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth.'

"_I can't, Alan. I was going to meet my friends."_

"_You pwomithed."_

This was true, Scott had promised to take his youngest brother to see Santa in the mall 'sometime this week'. _"I have homework to do…"_

"_Pleathe…"_

"_But, Alan…"_

"_Jutht quick. Pleathe, Thcotty."_

It was that final _'Pleathe, Thcotty,'_ that always did it. Despite the fact that he'd other things he'd planned to do, despite the fact that his friends always teased him, _'did you enjoy sitting on Santa's knee, Scott?'_, it was always that beseeching mispronunciation of his name that weakened Scott's resolve. He'd find himself, yet again, down at the local mall, waiting in the queue with a whole lot of other excited kids.

But it was after they'd exited Santa's Grotto that had always been the best time as far as Scott was concerned. When, despite the fact that 'Santa's' beard wasn't real… despite the fact that 'Santa's' suit didn't fit properly… despite the fact that it obviously wasn't even the same man that it had been last time, Alan had always emerged overflowing with the excitement, the awe, the_joy_ of having seen the 'real' Santa Claus! He would then throw his scrawny arms around Scott and look up at him with his big, beaming, broken-picket-fence smile... _"Thank you, Thcotty! You're the betht big bwother in the whole world!"_

He hadn't always been the 'best' big brother, Scott reflected. Sometimes he'd been _"the worst, most controlling, big brother in the world"_, occasionally followed by a screamed _"I hate you!"_

But now… Now that they'd been through all those difficult developmental periods in their lives… Now that they'd discovered their individual personalities, skills, quirks…

…Now it was possible to regard Alan as his brother, his team-mate, his equal, and his friend.

"Scott?"

Scott looked up at those eyes, still the same baby-blue, but the hair was less unruly and the teeth could only be described as 'perfect', thanks to a small fortune spent by their father. "Oh… Hi, Alan."

"You seem to be miles away."

Scott sighed. "…Years… would be more like i'."

"Are you okay?"

Scott rubbed his tired eyes again. "Yeah… Why?"

"Because you haven't asked what the heck I'm doing here."

"Oh…" Then Scott frowned as realisation dawned. "What the heck're you doin' here?!"

Alan grinned as he placed his mask on the ground and swung the oxygen cylinder off his shoulders. "That's more like it. I'm here to relieve you while you get some sleep."

Scott waved a dismissive hand. "Don' need any shleep."

Alan snorted. "Not much you don't. Look at you! You're practically falling off your stool. We're wasting time. The longer we argue here, the further away The Mole's gets from the surface, the further I'll have to travel to get back, and the longer The Mole will have to shut down its motors so I don't get cooked. You don't want to hold things up." Scott gave a slow nod and Alan pushed home his argument. "And when we get to the business end of things you're going to want to be wide-awake and on the top of your game." He softened his voice. "Go on, Scotty. Nothing much is happening now and if anything happens that I can't handle I'll call you."

"Scotty…" Scott repeated thickly. Then he gave another tired nod. "'kay, Alan." He clambered to his feet and his younger brother replaced him at Mobile Control. He stood there, leaning on the console, swaying slightly.

Alan looked at him in concern. "The hoverjet's over there. I'll give you a lift down to Thunderbird Two, okay? Then I can put it on to recharge and run back; it won't take me long. I'll let the guys know that Mobile Control's going to be out of action for a short time."

Scott nodded.

He was barely aware of the trip down the hill to the great green transporter, or of Alan leading him into the rest area of Thunderbird Two. It was only when Alan started assisting him off with his boots that he managed to rouse himself. "No…"

Alan looked at him with a quizzical expression. "No?"

"I can handle that. You'd better get back."

"Are you sure, Scott?"

"I'm sure."

"Well…" Alan sounded reluctant. "Okay. How long do you want to sleep for?"

"Ah…Um…" Scott appeared to have trouble focusing on the question. "Half hour."

"Half an hour…" Alan entered three hours into the slow-wave sleep generator. "Right! That's done. Bring the hoverjet back for me when you feel up to coming back to work."

"Yeah…" Scott pulled off the first of his boots and dropped it on the floor by the bed.

"See you soon, Scott."

"See ya." The second boot formed an untidy heap on top of the first.

"I'll call you when you're due to wake."

"Thanks." Scott undid his belt, pulled off his sash and dumped them both on the boots. "Hey, Alan!"

Alan had just about made it out the door. "What?"

Scott was looking at him with an earnest expression. "Thanks for everythin'…"

"No worries."

"…Thanks… Thanks for bein' such a grea' brother."

"Huh?"

"I think I mus' be the luckies' big brother in the world."

"Ah… right," Alan said, nonplussed by what he was hearing. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," leaving his boots and other paraphernalia where they lay, Scott stretched out on the bed, pulled a blanket over him, and slid a slow-wave sleep generator over his head.

"Pleasant dreams, Scotty."

Scott was having just that before the door closed behind Alan.

_To be continued…_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Marteen Batim stepped out of the shadows of Thunderbird Two. It was mid afternoon in Puzz, but already the shadows were growing longer. Ahead of him, wisps of gas and steam floating out of the entrance, was the gaping hole left by The Mole nearly twenty hours ago. Twenty agonising hours in which he'd felt hope slowly slip away. Twenty hours of waiting! Twenty hours of doing nothing!

He eyed up the hole.

He couldn't take much more of this.

He'd seen the International Rescue operative exit this hole on that strange machine that didn't appear to touch the ground. He'd seen that the operative had been wearing breathing apparatus.

He'd seen the operative escort Scott into Thunderbird Two.

He came to a decision.

---IR---

---F-A-B---

"How was he?"

"He was that zonked," Alan said to Virgil's image on his watch as he ambled down Thunderbird Two's ramp, "that he was raving. He was going on about how lucky he is."

"He's lucky he doesn't make himself sick. He's also lucky Grandma didn't see him. If she did he'd have no chance of having a merry Christmas."

"I know. I asked him how long he wanted me to programme the slow-wave sleep generator for and the idiot said half an hour."

"Half an hour!" Virgil exclaimed. "Even in the SWSG half an hour won't refresh him!"

"I know," Alan said smugly. "That's why we won't be seeing him for another three…"

"Scott…! Scott…! Sco… Uh…" Bryce Fuller realised that the man from International Rescue that he was yelling at definitely wasn't the man he was expecting. "We need your help!"

Alan jumped off the ramp. "What's wrong?"

"It's Marteen Batim, one of the fathers of those children, he's gone after them."

"After them?" Alan stared at the man. "What do you mean? How?"

Bryce pointed ahead to The Mole's exit. "He went down there."

Alan didn't hesitate. "Shut down The Mole!" he ordered into his watch.

Virgil knew better than to argue about an order like that. "Shutting down."

Alan turned his attention back to Bryce. "How long ago? If he somehow manages to survive the fall and the heat of the jets, the exhaust gases will kill him!"

"He's one of the mine's fire crew. He took his breathing apparatus."

"What other gear did he have?"

Bryce thought quickly. "None that I know of. Kyla, that's his wife, tried to stop him, but he was determined that he had to do something."

"Okay, I'll go get him," Alan said, resigning himself to retrieving another body. "I want you to keep everyone well clear of the tunnel. Even if The Mole's not operational there's still going to be enough exhaust gas around the entrance to be lethal." He turned and ran back into the pod. Getting Scott wasn't an option. This was one rescue he'd have to do alone…

---F-A-B---

"Did you hear that?" Virgil asked his brothers.

"Idiot," Gordon said. "If the fall doesn't kill him then the exhaust gases will!"

"He's a worried idiot," John reminded him. "Truth be told, he probably hasn't had much sleep over the last 36 hours and he's like Scott, not thinking straight."

"Not thinking straight's right," Gordon agreed. "We can't move while they're in the tunnel. He's holding the rescue up, not helping it!"

"Well, since we're not moving," Virgil said. "How about you guys keep an eye on things?" He vacated his seat at the main console. "I want to have a word with Brains and see if we can work out some way of reducing The Mole's vibrations. We may as well see if get something constructive out of this enforced break..."

---F-A-B---

Alan had got together all the equipment he'd thought he'd need and was lugging it on a hoverkart towards the tunnel.

Descending the tunnel in the hoverjet was not an option in this situation. The machine was okay moving up and down the slope between ground level and The Mole, but if it ceased motion, gravity would take over and it would simply fall further down the hole, taking its rider with it.

Some of the abseiling gear fell off the hastily stacked hoverkart and Alan was replacing it when someone jogged up to him. Harri Teeasi held up his breathing apparatus. "I'm on the fire and rescue crew at the mine. Marteen's a friend as well as colleague. Can I help?"

Alan knew a solo rescue would be difficult. "On the condition that you do exactly what I tell you."

"Deal."

"Good. Thanks," Alan acknowledged. He indicated the breathing apparatus. "Better put that on now." He dropped his gear and pulled his own oxygen mask over his head, before tuning the two-way radio to Harri's channel. "Can you hear me?"

"Loud and clear." Harri picked up some of Alan's kit. "Do you want this all over there?"

"Yep."

"Just how lethal is this gas?"

"Depends," Alan replied. "It becomes harmless upon contact with water. But in a concentrated gaseous form in an enclosed space… I wouldn't give you more than a couple of seconds."

"What are you going to do?"

"Abseil down to him," Alan explained. "And then pull him out. The big problem is that we don't know how far down he's fallen…"

"Are you sure he's fallen?" Harri asked.

"I'd practically guarantee it. The entrance is relatively flat, but then it drops away steeply. Remember we're trying to drill down 300 metres."

"I've got no chance of forgetting that," Harri said grimly. "Two of my kids are down there."

Alan was saved from formulating a suitable reply when there was a call from behind the cordon Bryce had set up. "Harri!"

Harri stopped. "That's my wife… She's got Marteen's wife with her..."

"It'll take me a little while to get set up," Alan said. "Go and talk to them. Tell the wife we're doing all we can."

Harri took a step towards the cordon and the abseiling equipment toppled off again. "But your gear…"

"Leave it here. I'll come back for it."

With a hasty apology, Harri dropped the equipment and jogged over to Jeanne who was trying to comfort a distraught Kyla. "It'll be okay, Kyla. International Rescue's on the scene. We'll get him. I promise."

"They haven't been successful so far," Kyla sniffed. "First Clive… Now Marteen… I don't think I can take much more."

"Shush, Kyla," Jeanne soothed. "Be careful, Harri… Please." She was looking grey and exhausted and he felt a measure of guilt at putting her through this extra strain.

"I'll be careful," Harri promised, and then crouched down so he was at his daughter's eye level. Jenni, clinging to her mother's legs, looked at her father with big eyes. "Look after your mother, Petal. I'll be back soon."

Jenni gave a solemn nod. "I know. Santa will bring Mr Marteen back."

"Oh, Jenni," Harri pulled her into a big hug. Then he stood and kissed Jeanne. "I'll be careful," he promised again. He tried to give a reassuring smile. "I'll be with International Rescue, remember."

---F-A-B---

Jeff Tracy looked at his watch. "It's been hours…" he reached out for the communications link that would connect him with Mobile Control. "No," he said, pulling his arm back and resting it on his desk. "Alan will think I'm checking up on him. That's the problem with him being the youngest; we tend to treat him as a child even though he's not. Do you think we'll ever stop doing that, Santa?" He looked over at his guest. "Santa?"

Santa Claus was staring into space again, seemingly caught up in another trance.

"Santa?" Tin-Tin enquired. "Are you all right? Can you hear me?"

There was no response.

---F-A-B---

Alan had entered the mouth of the tunnel and had guided the hoverkart until the floor started to dip away into the earth. At this point he shut down the hoverkart's motors, allowing it to sink onto the ground, and removed a large object, which he placed close to the edge of the precipice. Pressing a button detonated four small explosive charges and rods were fired into the ground, holding the object in place. Satisfied that it wasn't going anywhere Alan pressed another button and a pole extended upwards. The head of the pole unfurled revealing a lamp which switched on, bathing the surrounding area and the beginning of the downward shaft, in a white light.

Harri came running up. "Wow!" he exclaimed. "It's almost like daylight in here."

Alan was pointing something down the shaft. "There he is," he indicated a recumbent figure lying face-down about ten metres below. "Lucky we made a course correction at that point."

"Is he alive?"

Alan looked at a screen on the item in his hand. "Yes he is. He's a lucky man, he didn't land on his oxygen tank, at the very least that would have broken his back. I hope his mask has a good seal."

"What do you want me to do?" Harri asked.

"Put this on," Alan held out a harness, "and clip yourself to this line so you don't fall." He pulled out a short length of thin, strong wire from the immobilised object, which, now it was visible in the light, was revealed to be labelled with the legend 'SAVER'.

"Done," Harri said. "Now what do I do?"

"Control this," Alan replied, laying his hand on the 'SAVER'. "This is the Subterranean Abseiling Victim Escape Reel. It's easy enough to use. This line…" he pulled out a longer length of wire and clipped it onto his own safety harness, "and this safety line," he snapped it into place, making sure it was held securely, "are controlled by this lever. They work in tandem. If you need to operate just one line, flick this switch." He demonstrated. "Understood?"

"Understood."

"Good. You have four additional lines to send down the equipment I'll need. Send down the first aid box first and make sure the gas-tent follows close behind."

Harri looked at the gas-tent. Whatever it was it was packaged in a box. "Okay."

"I'll go down and check on Marteen. When he can be moved I'll get you to send down the stretcher using all four lines. Okay?"

"Okay." Harri repeated and took a deep breath. He heard the oxygen whistle along the tubes of his breathing apparatus.

Alan withdrew an electronic device the size of a notepad from his pocket and slid a stylus out from the top. He held it out to Harri. "If I list his injuries and first aid, will you write them down? The medical authorities will need to know everything."

"Sure." Harri pocketed the 'notepad'.

"Any questions?"

"No."

"Right. Let's get started." Alan took up the slack of both of his lines and stepped over the edge. "Let me down slowly."

The descent was easy and Alan quickly reached the narrow ledge that supported the obviously injured man. "Send down the first aid kit."

"On its way."

Marteen was unconscious and unresponsive. Alan quickly felt along his body searching for sites of injuries. "Some broken bones here, but I don't think there's anything life threatening." He reached up and unclipped the first aid kit, placing it at Marteen's side away from the edge of the precipice. "Where's the gas-tent?" Looking up he saw it was already waiting for him. "Good work." He reached up, but before he unhooked it he pressed a button. The bottom of the box opened and clear plastic unfolded itself until it made a box of its own, long enough to cover a prostrate man and high enough to accommodate another, so long as he stooped.

Alan manoeuvred the gas-tent until it covered Marteen, then he shifted the package it had descended in so it sat on the ledge outside the unit. Finally he disconnected the abseiling wires. "Retract lines and connect all four to the stretcher, but don't send it down until I tell you."

Marteen's reply sounded hollow in his earpiece. "Understood."

Connecting a hose between the box and the gas-tent, Alan turned a timer switch until it read five minutes, then he slid under the gas-tent and fastened its base to the ground. He'd just finished completing the seal along the edge of the precipice when the timer finished counting down and the gas-tent began to fill with clean, clear oxygen.

"That's better," Alan removed his mask, leaving his radio microphone on. "It's easier to work without all that paraphernalia." He placed his oxygen mask on the ground in the corner of the gas-tent before turning his attention back to Marteen. "I'll immobilise him before I transfer him to the stretcher."

"Understood," Harri repeated, feeling redundant at this point.

Alan worked slowly and methodically. Once the injured man's neck had been immobilised he cut Marteen's breathing apparatus free and checked his head for injuries. "Probable concussion," he announced after noticing that both pupils' dilation were uneven.

"Prob-a-ble con-cush-shon," Harri enunciated as he wrote in the 'notepad'. He was surprised to see '_concushon_' replaced with a drop-down box and the words '_concussion_', '_okay_', and '_cancel_' appear on screen. He tapped '_okay_'.

"Open wound to left temple," Alan announced. "Still bleeding."

"Open - wound - to - left - temple," Harri repeated as he wrote. "Still – bleeding…" He stopped writing. "That doesn't sound too good."

"It's to be expected after a fall of this distance," Alan replied. "And head wounds always bleed a lot."

Working together they progressed down Marteen's battered body, Alan detailing injuries and treatment while Harri took copious notes. After a time the latter looked at his watch and then the gauge on his breathing apparatus. "I have a problem."

Alan concentrating on caring for Marteen's broken left arm, stopped. "What's that?"

"I'm getting low on oxygen. Do you think it's safe for me to take my mask off yet?"

"I wouldn't. Do you have a spare?"

"There's several back at the control centre."

"Go and get another one, plus an extra."

"But what about you?"

"We'll be okay here for a while; we're not going anywhere."

"Okay, thanks," Harri acknowledged. "I'll be as quick as I can."

"F-A-B," Alan replied absently, slipping an inflatable split over the fractured limb.

---F-A-B---

"Ten… Nine… Eight…"

"What on Earth is he doing?" John asked.

"Six…"

Virgil, waiting for Brains to come up with some solutions, shrugged. "Beats me. I suppose we'll find out in a few seconds."

"Four… Three… Two… One…" Gordon looked up from his watch. "Happy December 26th, Fellas."

They stared at him. "What?"

"It's the 26th of December at home," he explained. "We've missed Christmas."

"Great," John moaned. "Now I'm nearly as depressed as those families."

---F-A-B---

Harri sprinted out of the tunnel and up towards the control centre. Several surprised faces stared at him as he burst into the marquee and started pulling oxygen cylinders out of their racks.

"Harri!" Kyla grabbed his arm. "Why are you here? Is Marteen all right? Have you got him out? Can I see him? Where…"

"Whoa!" Harri turned to face her. "Calm down, Kyla!" He grasped her by the upper arms. "Marteen's alive, but he's hurt. That guy from International Rescue is stabilising him so he can be shifted."

"Hurt…?" Kyla stared at him before her face crumbled into tears. "Marteen…"

"Kyla…" Jeanne and Enid came to their friend's aid; Enid placing her arm about Kyla's shoulders and leading her away. "Come and sit down."

Jeanne remained with her husband. "How is he, Harri?"

He looked over her shoulder at Kyla before lowering his voice. "He's not good, Hon. He fell about ten metres. He's unconscious. He's got cuts, bruises, broken bones…"

"What are you doing?"

"Lowering the gear down to International Rescue. I was running out of oxygen…" He gave his wife a kiss. "I'd better get back."

"Be careful…"

A male voice intruded into the conversation. "Can I help?"

Harri looked at his friend and colleague, taking in the sling, scratches and grazes. "I don't think so, Cal…" He picked up two oxygen cylinders and began walking out of the tent.

Cal caught him and held him back. "Don't try to stop me, Harri…!" There was something threatening in his manner.

"Look, Cal," Harri said, trying to sound soothing. "We're wasting time."

"We're wasting time? What about International Rescue? They've been down there for hours and they've done nothing!"

"Cal!" Harri hoisted the oxygen cylinders onto his shoulders and started walking. "You know why that is. You know you can't rush…"

"I know that my kids are down there and so are yours! I also know that if someone doesn't get to them soon they'll be…" Cal's voice broke and he looked away. "Tell International Rescue to hurry up, Harri." He looked back. "If you don't… I will…"

---F-A-B---

"T-The Mole shouldn't be p-producing that much vibration, Virgil," Brains said when he'd finished going through the printouts that had been radioed to base. "From your point of view, how h-has the ride been?"

"I haven't noticed any difference here in the cabin," Virgil replied. "Do you think something's shifted in the auger, throwing it slightly off centre?"

Brains nodded. "Not wishing to c-cast aspersions on y-y-your piloting abilities," he appeared to find something even more absorbing in the printouts, "b-b-but… I-I-I," he swallowed. "I-I wonder if s-s-some-how The M-Mole was j-jarred on l-l-landing."

Virgil's face remained impassive. He didn't like the insinuation that his piloting of Thunderbird Two had been with less than perfect precision. But he was also honest enough to realise that Brains didn't make statements like that without good reason. "I didn't have any problems with the landing," he said evenly. "And I don't remember it being rougher than usual…"

"I-I'm s-sorry, Virgil. I d-didn't m-mean…"

"Fellas?" Virgil called over his shoulder.

"What, Virg?" Gordon asked, climbing against the incline of the cabin to reach his brother.

"Brains thinks that when Thunderbird Two landed, something in The Mole could have been jarred out of place. Did you have any issues with the landing?"

Gordon opened his mouth to make a flippant reply and then decided that it wasn't the time for jokes. "Nope. And I've flown with you enough times to know if you'd done anything differently."

"No complaints from me," John called up from the main control unit. "Everything seemed fine."

"Take off?" Virgil asked.

Gordon shook his head. "Only the usual kick from the thrusters. Maybe The Mole wasn't secured as well as it should have been and it got knocked then."

"It seemed okay when I readied it," Virgil replied.

"We can deal with what caused the misalignment later," John said. "The question is: what do we do to rectify it now?"

---F-A-B---

Left alone in the tunnel bored only hours earlier by The Mole, Alan continued working on doing what he could to make Marteen comfortable. When the time came for transferring the victim to the stretcher he'd be doing it solo and he wanted the procedure to be as painless and simple for them both as it could possibly be. He finished bandaging Marteen's left arm and began work on the right.

Marteen's eyelids flickered and he moaned.

"Marteen?" Alan said quietly, shifting most of his weight onto his right leg so he could lean closer to the injured man's ear. "You're going to be okay. Just lie still and let me take care of you."

Marteen groaned and tried to turn his immobilised head.

"Keep still," Alan reiterated. "It won't be long now." He placed his hand on an unstrapped section of Marteen's arm.

One of the human being's most basic responses is known as 'fight or flight'. It's what sets your pulses racing, your body sweating and your nerves on edge when you perceive that you are threatened. Even a semi-conscious man is controlled by this instinct and may lash out to protect himself… Even if this means that the person they were 'protecting' themselves from was actually the person trying to help them…

Marteen, although constrained by Alan's braces, strapping and bandages, lashed out. Alan, already off balance as he tried to calm the injured man, had his right leg knocked out from underneath him causing him to fall against the wall of the gas-tent. Unable to withstand the sudden impact, the seal that held the gas-tent to the edge of the precipice and stopped gases from entering, gave way and Alan, with nothing to break his fall, found himself plummeting through the gap…

…Down into the poisonous gases from The Mole's exhausts…

…Down into a hole over 100 metres deep…

…Down into a black pit of death…

_To be continued…_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

"I-I think that one of the annular bearing rings may have shifted position slightly, s-say by one-tenth of a millimetre," Brains hypothesised. "We will have to r-redress the balance."

John frowned, "But that'll mean that we've got to turn The Mole on again so we can align the internal entrances and we can't do that until Alan's got that guy out of the hole."

"And more time wasted," Gordon added.

"Not only that," Virgil mused, "we'll need to keep The Mole under power to facilitate the rotation of the gears. If we do that while someone's working inside the auger, then there's a chance that everything will start rotating of its own violation, trapping them inside."

"Or worse… with all those gears…" Gordon gave a dramatic shudder.

"Th-The only other option is to carry on as you are," Brains suggested. "It's ultimately your decision."

Everyone looked at Virgil. "What do you think, Virgil?" John asked. "You're the engineer."

Virgil stood. "I'll go get ready. As soon as we get the word from Alan that no one's in any danger I'll get the repairs underway…

---F-A-B---

Alan never knew how he did it, but as he plummeted head-first out of the gas-tent and down the tunnel burrowed by The Mole, he'd managed to snare a tenuous hold on the ledge that he'd been standing on. Now he was hanging on the edge of a precipice by his fingertips, holding his breath, and thinking frantically.

Calling for help wasn't an option. The way that his eyes and nasal membranes were stinging told him that one breath would be fatal. Besides, by the time someone lowered down one of the lines from the 'SAVER' he was pretty sure that he would have either lost his grip, consciousness, or in the case of the latter, both.

He had to save himself.

His gloves being torn to shreds on the rough surface left by The Mole, his face and arms covered with grazes from a wall that was as abrasive as sandpaper, he fought for a hold on life. Scrabbling for grip on the tunnel wall with his feet, he managed to push himself up so that he was able to slip his arm under the lip of the gas-tent. Even now he couldn't rest: already his lungs were starting to burn.

Reaching out to get a firmer grip on something solid he felt around until he found a rock that jutted enough from the ledge for him to get some leverage. He pulled himself higher, sliding under the lip of the gas-tent; praying that he wasn't bringing those deadly gases in with him. His foot found purchase and he pushed himself further into the capsule of oxygen, falling roughly on top of Marteen Batim. After pulling his legs back inside his sanctuary, all the time fighting the red mist that was clouding his vision, he resealed the edge of the gas-tent.

Only then did he allow himself the luxury of a breath of air. He huddled on his knees on the ledge, lungs heaving as they dragged in the gases stored within this cocoon of life.

When the fire in his chest had ceased and he was seeing clearly again, he sat up and pulled some tissues from the first aid kit to wipe his streaming eyes and nose.

"Is everything okay down there?"

Alan almost jumped at the sound of Harri Teeasi's voice. "We had a slight hiccough," he replied, amazed at how normal he was sounding. "Nothing to worry about."

"Are we ready to pull Marteen out yet?"

"Nearly," Alan replied. "I'll just strap his legs together so he can't kick out. He regained consciousness briefly before…"

"Really!" Harri exclaimed. "That's great! Kyla will be thrilled."

Alan resisted an uncharitable: _'I'm glad someone will be'_. He finished his last few chores in silence before donning his breathing apparatus. "Okay, send down the stretcher," he said as he reached into the first aid kit and removed a smaller oxygen mask and cylinder. By the time he'd attached this over Marteen's face and ensured it fitted snugly over the injured man's mouth and nose, the stretcher was hanging just above the gas-tent. Alan snapped the first aid kit shut and then slipped out from under the gas-tent, before switching off the oxygen pump that was keeping it inflated.

Its work finished, the gas-tent collapsed slowly, Alan pulling it free so it couldn't cover Marteen like a shroud. "Lower the stretcher another metre."

From there on it was a comparatively simple matter to roll the patient onto the stretcher, clip the first aid kit and gas-tent on to one end to act as a balance, and harness himself to the other end closest to Marteen's head. "Lift us up."

Harri assisted the two men over the lip of the precipice and pulled the stretcher away from the edge. "Now what?"

"We'll put him on the hoverkart." Alan started to remove rescue paraphernalia off the transporter.

"But what about all this?" Harri asked.

"I'll come back for it," Alan replied. "Our first priority is to get Marteen to proper medical help."

---F-A-B---

Santa Claus blinked and then smiled at the concerned faces staring at him. Tin-Tin placed a gentle hand on his forearm. "Are you feeling all right?"

Santa's smile broadened into a beaming grin and patted her hand. "Perfectly all right, my dear."

"You seemed to be in some kind of trance," Grandma stated. "You had us worried."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Jeff asked. "If you want I could get Brains to check you over."

Santa shook his head. "That won't be necessary, Jeff, but thank you for the offer. I was off to the aid of someone in trouble." He smiled again. "Santa doesn't need to be physically present in order to be of assistance to others."

---F-A-B---

The ambulance was waiting beyond the cordon, and Alan steered the patient through a crowd of people desperate for news on his well being.

"Marteen! Marteen!" Kyla pushed herself away from Enid and ran to her husband's side. "Marteen! Say something!"

"He's unconscious," Harri told her. "Let us get him into the ambulance. He needs help."

"You'd better go with him to the hospital, Kyla," Jeanne suggested. "He needs you."

Kyla hesitated, torn between the need to go with her husband as he sought medical help and her equally strong desire to remain close to her son.

"Go," Harri said gently. "We'll call you when International Rescue are nearly ready to rescue Clive."

Kyla turned bloodshot eyes to Alan. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for everything." She climbed into the back of the ambulance.

Now that the pressure was off, Harri turned his attention to the man from International Rescue noting his grazes and dishevelled appearance. "Just what was that 'slight hiccough'?"

Alan gave his assistant a wry grin. "Occupational hazard," he replied. "I'd better get my equipment so we can get this rescue underway again." He turned and, pushing the hoverkart, strode back to the edge of the cordon.

Until his way was blocked.

Cal Doak stood there. "How much longer are you going to be?"

"I'll be five minutes," Alan promised. "I've just got to get some equipment out of the tunnel." He pushed the hoverkart to the side so that he could steer it around the man with his arm in a sling.

The man with his arm in a sling blocked his path again. "That's not what I mean."

Alan, beginning to become irritated by the interruptions, frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The rescue of my kids!" Cal scowled. "How much longer is it going to take?"

"If we don't have anyone else taking foolish risks…" Alan began.

"Foolish risks!" Cal exploded. He indicated the departing ambulance, "Marteen Batim was trying to do what International Rescue seem incapable of doing… Trying to rescue five children!"

Alan drew himself up to his full height. "I can assure you, Sir, that we…"

"Your assurances are nothing: I want action!"

"We all want to get those kids out of the mine," Alan stated, working to control his temper. "Now if you will excuse me, you are holding things up…"

Their altercation had attracted the attentions of bystanders. "Cal," Harri said. "Let the man get on with his job."

Cal didn't appear to hear his friend. "_I'm_ holding things up? You're the one worrying about bits of equipment!"

"Because if one of those 'bits of equipment' were to fall into The Mole's jet outlet, the resultant explosion would destroy this whole mountain!" Alan snapped.

"Cal, come with me," Harri pulled on Cal's uninjured arm.

Cal pulled free, but otherwise ignored Harri. "I'll ask you again, _Mister_ International Rescue," he demanded. "How long is this rescue going to take?"

"It will take until we've got your children back to the surface," Alan replied. "Now, excuse me…" he pushed past.

"You don't have kids of your own, do you!?" Cal yelled after him. "You've got not idea what this is like! You've no concept!" he screamed. "My kids are in that hole and you don't care!"

Struggling not to react to the accusations and pulling on his oxygen mask, as much to block out the raging man's screams as to ensure he could breathe, Alan hurried the hoverkart to the entrance to the tunnel.

"Let me help you?"

Alan hadn't even heard Harri come up beside him. He managed a smile. "Thanks."

"Don't pay any attention to Cal," Harri advised. "He's worried. He tried to rescue the kids himself earlier and failed. That's how he got injured. He's feeling helpless."

"I can understand that," Alan replied. "I just wish people would understand that we're doing our best. We have two options open to us…" He hoisted the gas-tent onto the hoverkart. "We can either drill down at speed and risk the entire mine collapsing on them so they've got no chance of survival. Or we do what we're doing; taking it slow and steady. We want to get your children out alive too."

"I know," Harri admitted as he helped Alan swing the hoverkart around. "It's just hard, you know. Not knowing how they are. You don't realise how important your children are to you until you think you're going to lose them."

---F-A-B---

There was a beep and the slow-wave sleep generator slid back. Scott, reluctantly at first and then with more vigour as he remembered where he was and why he was there, woke up. He stretched and rubbed a chin rough with the stubble of a beard.

He swung his legs off the bed and sat on the edge before reaching out for his boots placed neatly at its base. He slid the left one on and then took up the right. He was about to pull it on too when he noticed something poking up from its interior. Reaching inside he pulled out a Christmas cracker. He smiled and put the cracker in his pocket. "Nice touch, Alan."

He stood and checked the SWSG. "Three hours! The little…" Then Scott chuckled to himself: he'd been tricked, but he had to admit that it had been a trick for his own good. Now that he was fully refreshed he knew that thinking that half-an-hour would have been enough sleep was absolute folly. It was true that sleep depravation clouded your judgement.

After the briefest of washes, a very quick shave and a change into a clean shirt, Scott felt ready to face the fear and sorrow that awaited him outside of Thunderbird Two. He removed his sash and belt from where they were draped over a chair and deactivated the alarm that protected the rest of Thunderbird Two from intruders. Donning the sash and belt as he walked through the aeroplane, he strode out of Thunderbird Two.

---F-A-B---

"How are you feeling, Zoomer?" Santa Claus asked. Zoomer stood on the infirmary's bed, stretched, and then bounded onto the floor, showing little sign of lameness. Santa chuckled. "Ready to go outside are you?"

Zoomer looked up at him with big reindeer eyes and made a sound.

"I warn you. It's cooler in here. It might be night but it's still very hot outside."

Zoomer pawed at the door.

"All you'll have to cool you down is a water spray that Brains set up for the others. Rudolph's already discovered how difficult it is to get out of the swimming pool."

Zoomer pawed at the door again and then gave her master a beseeching look.

"Very well," Santa conceded. "Don't say I didn't warn you. Remember that we can't go home yet: I still have work to do." He grasped Zoomer by her collar and led her down the hallway of the Tracy's home. "We won't be leaving until this rescue is over…"

---F-A-B---

Alan collapsed into Mobile Control's command seat and allowed his eyes to close for a moment. They were still sore and he'd retrieved some eye drops from the first aid kit before he'd stored it in the pod. Not wanting to hold up the rescue any longer, he'd returned to Mobile Control with the idea that he'd insert the drops after The Mole was on the move again. But, the strains of the last couple of hours had taken their toll and he felt the need to gather himself together before speaking to his brothers…

"Hey, Alan."

Alan opened his eyes and looked up at Scott. "You're looking a darn sight better than you did before."

Scott frowned as he took in Alan's cuts, grazes, dirty clothes and bloodshot eyes. "And you're looking a darn sight worse. What's happened?" He saw the bottle in Alan's hand and took it. "Tip your head back," he instructed.

Not in the mood to argue, Alan complied. As the eye drops were inserted he explained all that had happened, including his brush with death. "I'm telling you, Scott, it was the weirdest thing… It was almost as if someone was helping pull me back into the gas-tent…" he waved his hand dismissively. "I don't know why I told you that bit. You don't believe in things like that."

"Don't be so sure," Scott handed back the eye drops and then sat on the edge of Mobile Control. "So we haven't moved at all while I was asleep?"

"Nope." Alan blinked, relieved that the drops appeared to be working. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise, it's not your fault." Scott gave his youngest brother an appraising look. "Do you want to stay up here while I go back down?"

Alan shook his head. "You're better suited to this job than I am. There are some worried people out there who want to know that the people who are rescuing their kids understand what it's like to be a parent. I can't even claim to be mother hen to my younger siblings! Besides," he gave his big brother a cheeky smile. "I'm getting more sleep down there than I would up here."

Scott chuckled. "Okay, Alan, point taken. And thanks for disobeying orders; you did the right thing."

"I thought so." Alan stood. "I haven't given the order to start drilling again yet. You might like to let them know you're back on deck. You can also tell them that I've already cheated death in The Mole's burrow once and I don't fancy doing it again, so they're to keep their fingers off the ignition switch."

"F-A-B," Scott acknowledged and reclaimed his seat. He felt something shift in his pocket. "Oh, yeah! Thanks for the cracker. Want to pull it with me before you go?"

Alan, who was nearly at the entrance, turned back, his face expressing some unknown emotion. "Cracker?"

"Yes. The one you left in my boot."

Alan stepped closer, his eyes on the red, green and silver cracker in Scott's hands. It looked oddly familiar and he felt a chill go down his spine. "I haven't touched your boots since you told me not to help you."

"Pull the other one. It plays 'Jingle Bells'."

Alan was shaking his head. "I didn't touch your things. You'd dumped them on the floor and I left them there."

"Come on, Alan," Scott's laugh rang hollow. "You must have put it in there when you tidied up."

"Honest, Scott." Alan spread his hands in a gesture that spoke of his need to be believed. "I got you to Thunderbird Two, tried to help you with your boots, you told me to leave, I programmed the SWSG and left. That's it!" He suddenly looked concerned. "Maybe I forgot to turn the alarm on?!"

"No, I turned that off before I left the sleeping quarters," Scott reassured him. He lifted the cracker closer so he could examine it. "So who tidied my things and left this?"

"You weren't sleepwalking were you?" Alan suggested.

He saw a moment's alarm in his brother's eyes before Scott dismissed the idea. "I've never seen this before and the SWSG's not programmed to operate at a level that allows anything except full, deep sleep." He frowned at the cracker.

"I… I wasn't going to tell you this," Alan said. "But someone left the four of us crackers, just like that one, in The Mole too. None of the guys knew anything about them so we were blaming Brains. But if that's the case how did it get into your boot? He's still at home! And what made it really weird was that, although we each chose our crackers at random, we each ended up with something we appreciated. Mine was a car, Gordon got a stink bomb, Virgil's was a snap-together model, and John's got glow in the dark stars. And our hats matched our sashes."

Scott stared at him. "You've got to be kidding."

"I'm not," Alan said earnestly.

They both stared at the innocuous novelty.

"Do you still want to pull it?" Alan asked. "I should be getting back."

Scott, not sure what to believe, shrugged. "May as well." He held it out. "Merry Christmas, Alan."

"Merry Christmas, Scott." There was a bang and the cracker split in two, spilling its pale blue contents onto the ground. "This day is getting stranger and stranger…" Alan mused, pulling a piece of paper out of his pocket. "But I'd better get a move on." He wrote on the page before folding it in two and gave it to his brother. "I'd almost guarantee that what I've written on there is what you've got in that." He pointed at the cracker's contents. "You can tell me if I'm right when we get home… See you."

"Later, Alan..." Scott heard the hoverjet hum into life. He switched on the microphone. "Mobile Control to Mole."

It was John who responded. "Mole here. How's 'Rip Van Winkle' feeling now?"

"Awake enough to keep you on your toes," Scott replied. "I hear you've had a quiet three hours."

"Yes," John replied. "We haven't heard from Alan since he tucked you up in bed."

"Believe me, he's had an exciting time," Scott said. "I'm sure he'll tell you about it when he gets back down there. He's on his way now."

"F-A-B. We weren't planning on moving any time soon anyway. Brains has come up with an idea to reduce the vibrations The Mole's causing, which'll hopefully give us more speed when we start drilling again."

"What's Brains' hypothesis?"

"He thinks something's off plumb with the annular bearing rings and we, that is Virgil, is going to try to fix it." John gave a grimace. "I don't think Virgil appreciated the suggestion that it was fault…"

Scott stared at the video monitor. "Virgil's fault! Why?"

The grimace morphed into a wry expression. "Brains suggested that perhaps Thunderbird Two's landing wasn't as smooth as it might have been."

Scott gave a low whistle. "I bet that went down like a lead balloon."

"Virg hasn't said anything, but yeah, I don't think he was impressed."

"And was it?"

"Was it what?"

"Virgil's fault."

John laughed. "I think you'd better get another hour's shut-eye. Of course not. At least Gordon and I don't think so."

"So how is Virgil going to fix the problem?"

"Climb inside the auger and make some adjustments."

"What…?" Scott didn't like the sound of this plan. "That's a bit risky. He's going to have to enter through the cabin hatch while The Mole's 'alive'."

"You know Virgil, he doesn't take unnecessary risks. He wouldn't attempt this if he didn't think he could pull it off."

Scott grunted. Virgil's idea of what constituted an 'unnecessary risk' was riskier than most ordinary people's. But then, he reflected, the same could have been said of any of the members of International Rescue. It was the reason why they'd been successful more often than not.

But still his insides squirmed at the idea of his brother working in close proximity to all that machinery that ground one piece of metal against another.

"Any instructions?" John asked.

"Negative. Keep me informed of developments."

"F-A-B." John signed off.

Scott realised that he was alone on Christmas Day again. He picked up the remains of his Christmas cracker and looked at the pale blue package. He began to unwrap it.

The outer wrapper fell away revealing itself to be, as expected, a paper crown. Declining to put it on, Scott folded it up carefully and pushed it into his pocket. Then he unravelled the riddle. "_If a plane full of passengers heading home for Christmas crashes on the border between the US and Mexico, where do they bury the survivors?_" He chuckled. "That one's got more whiskers than Santa Claus on it. They don't." In good humour he unwrapped the gift. A tiny aeroplane, a spring and a suction cup fell out. Taking a moment to enjoy the frivolity of it, all he screwed the spring into the underside of the plane and then attached the suction cup to the other end. Then he stuck the suction cup to Mobile Control and gave the aeroplane a flick with his finger. It wobbled cheerfully.

Deciding that Christmas was over, he turned his attention back to Mobile Control's console. His eyes fell on Alan's piece of paper and, curious, he opened it.

_I predict that the gift will be a plane, and the joke will be to do with flight._

Scott felt a chill chase down his spine.

---F-A-B---

"Santa's gone into a dream again," Grandma announced as she watched their visitor. "There must be someone else needing his help. I wish International Rescue could do that, then maybe the boys could have stayed home for Christmas."

"You're only saying that because you're tired," her son remarked. "Go to bed, Mother. It's after midnight."

"I'm not going to bed until you go to bed, Jeff. And that won't be until we know that those repairs to The Mole have been completed successfully. Am I right?

Jeff had to concede that she was right…

---F-A-B---

"Ready, Virg?" Gordon asked, his hands full of various bits of equipment.

They'd swung a section of bulkhead away from the auger to get to the area of operations. Virgil eyed up the closed hatch in front of them. "Yes… As soon as Alan gets here."

"Alan's here," John called from the other end of The Mole at he admitted his youngest brother. "What the heck happened to you?!"

"I'll tell you later," Alan said. "What are you going to do?"

"Reduce the vibrations," Virgil told him. "I'll do some recalibrating."

"Take a seat, Alan," John suggested. "We can handle this. Whatever it is you've been doing it looks pretty messy."

"It was," Alan admitted. Glad of the chance to relax he sat on one of the passenger seats.

"Mole to Mobile Control," John said into the microphone. "Alan's on board. All clear to start engines?"

"F-A-B. I'll keep radio communications to a minimum so you can concentrate on what you're doing, but I want you to keep me up with what's happened."

"F-A-B." John fired up the mighty machine's motor. The four Tracy men watched as the section of the drill bit that was visible rotated until a hole lined up with the hatch. Then John locked the brakes in position. "Holding."

"Okay," Virgil acknowledged. "Wish me luck everyone." He crawled into the cavity.

"Here're your tools," Gordon called down the chute. "Got them?"

"Yep." Virgil disappeared from view.

His brothers waited ten minutes before John grew impatient. "How's it going, Virgil?"

"I need tool kit three," Virgil responded.

"I've got it," Gordon ran down to the maintenance bay. He returned a short time later with the required tool box. "Here." He leant into the cavity. "Can you reach?"

Later it would take hours of analysis to work out precisely what happened in the space of a couple of seconds. All the Tracys were aware of at that moment was a warning noise from the main control unit, a screech of metal on metal, and the auger slamming back into position.

Gordon, who had been still leaning down the chute, was thrown the length of the cabin before crashing with a sickening thud against the far wall. He crumpled to the floor.

"Gordon!" Alan raced to his brother's side. "Answer me!"

John, knowing that one brother was being tended to, turned to look for the other.

Of Virgil there was no sign…

_To be continued…_


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

"Gordon!" Alan skidded to a stop at his brother's side. "Are you all right!?"

Gordon gingerly sat up. "Ow…! My head!" he reached around to where his skull had impacted against The Mole's bulkhead. "That hurt!"

"Here, let me look," Alan offered, gently probing the site of the injury. "You haven't broken the skin, but you're getting a lump there." He shifted position so he could look Gordon in the eye. "How do you feel?"

"I'm going to be sore all over," Gordon admitted. "But apart from that I feel fine. I'm only seeing the Milky Way instead of the whole universe." He tried to blink away the stars. "You didn't have to throw me so hard."

Alan pulled an icepack from out of a first aid kit. "Huh?"

"I appreciate you pulling me out, but did you have to do it with such ferocity?"

Alan frowned, concerned by what the accusations could mean. "What are you talking about?"

"You pulled me out of the drill before it clobbered me." Gordon winced as the cold of the icepack was applied to his head. He closed his eyes.

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"Gordon," Alan's concerns for his brother's health were growing. "I was sitting on the seat, there. Don't you remember?"

"I remember you were there when I climbed in," Gordon recollected. "But you must have pulled me out. John was operating the main controls, so he couldn't have done it. It had to be you." He opened his eyes and looked at his younger brother. "Wasn't it?"

Alan shook his head. "No. I didn't leave that seat until you went flying past me."

"I'm sure I felt someone grab me and pull me out!" Gordon insisted. "If it wasn't you, and it wasn't John, and we know it couldn't be Virgil, then who…" His face blanched. "Virgil!"

Both men looked down to the other end of the cabin, towards the brother who was standing there… alone.

John, mouth dry, eyes wide, was staring at the bulkhead. It could hardly have been described as a blank wall, but it still told him nothing. Somewhere behind that almost impenetrable barrier, caught up in the various bits of machinery, was his brother. Trying to keep visions of potential injuries to a minimum he worked his way through scenarios and solutions, trying to find the most painless, least messy answer to what seemed to be an insurmountable problem.

"John!" He was hailed from the radio. "What's going on?"

John, relieved to hear their rescue co-ordinator's voice, grabbed at the microphone. If anyone could come up with a workable solution, it would be Scott. "We've got a problem."

"I guessed. I've got Virgil on his wristwatch telecom talking to me in Morse code."

"What? What did he say?" John glanced at Alan and Gordon who had come to stand beside him, the latter holding an icepack to the back of his head as his brother supported him.

"_S. OK. V. Save O2._ What's going on, John?"

John didn't have time for chat. "Can you patch him through, Scott?" John waited a moment and then spoke again. "Virgil! Are you okay?"

There was a moment's pause and then a series of raps were heard from the speakers. "_O.K. How G?_"

Gordon leant closer to the microphone. "I'm all right, Virgil." He straightened again, and knocked away Alan's assisting arm. "I'm okay!"

John took control of the microphone again. "I'm going to open the chute…"

"NO!" Virgil's voice was loud and clear before he reverted back to Morse. "_Save O2. Fix Mole first. Talk soon._"

John responded with a reluctant, "F-A-B." He turned back to his brothers. "We're waiting again."

"Okay, John. While we're waiting you can tell me what's happened," Scott ordered.

John gave him a brief run-down of events. "How much air will he have in there?"

Gordon had discarded his icepack and was already entering some figures into a computer. "Going by the specs for the interior workings of the auger, and the amount of free space in there… I'd give him about twenty minutes, depending on whether or not he's lying to us and he's injured."

John looked at his watch. "I'll give him five. Then I'm calling him again."

"Of course if he holds his breath he'll have longer," Alan suggested. "But it's not the easiest way to work," he added, remembering his own scare from an hour earlier.

---F-A-B---

Verna Obale entered Scott's sanctuary, noticing the way that he was hunched over Mobile Control. "Is there a problem?"

Not wanting to go into details, he kept his explanation short. "We're trying to improve the efficiency of The Mole."

"Oh…" she replied. "Tricky?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Scott ignored her and looked at his watch. "That's five minutes, John," he muttered.

On cue he heard John's voice through Mobile Control. "Virgil, I want you to count backwards from five."

If Virgil was exasperated by the instruction, there was no hint of it in his voice or delay to his response. "Five, four, three, two, one."

"Good. I'm calling you again in five minutes."

The radio went silent again.

"Ah…" Verna hesitated, unsure if it was a good time to interrupt. "I was wondering if you would like something to eat?"

Scott looked at her. Food wasn't something he'd allowed himself to give much consideration to in the time that he'd been in Puzz. He'd munched on a few energy bars, but they couldn't compare to the full Christmas dinner that he knew was waiting at home. "I wouldn't want to put anyone out."

She smiled at him. "You won't be. We've had mobile caterers on site since four-o-clock."

Scott hesitated. He was hungry, but food wasn't a high priority while his brother was in danger and the rescue was going nowhere. "Would you mind if we waited twenty minutes?"

Verna's smile broadened. "I'm sure that won't be a problem. I'll bring you something then."

Scott managed to smile in reply. "Thanks."

---F-A-B---

John looked at his watch again. "Five minutes." The radio frequency was opened. "Virgil…"

His question was anticipated. "Five, four, three, two, one."

Gordon laughed. "He's okay."

Time dragged on. As the twenty minute deadline grew closer and closer John shortened his schedule, and instead, his eyes glued to the clock, started requesting reports every minute.

The responses were getting notably slower.

"Virgil… Count back from five."

"Five… Four… Three… Two, one."

The minute hand ticked around again.

"Virgil… Give me another countdown… Virgil!"

"Five… … Four… … Free… Two… One."

"How much longer will you be, Virgil?"

"Close… H-Hot…"

"Virgil," those in The Mole's cabin heard Scott's voice. "I'm giving the order to open the chute."

"No… Close… In way…"

"Get out of the way!" Scott barked. "Now!"

"O-One more… Done…"

"Are you clear, Virgil?" John demanded.

"Cle…"

John didn't wait for the word to be completed. With a "Get ready!" he slammed down on the button that rotated the auger out of position. "Get him!"

Alan was already halfway up the chute. His fingers closed around blue material and he pulled backwards. He felt Gordon drag him by the legs and then reach up beside him to assist. Between them they grabbed Virgil's arms, pulling him clear of The Mole's dangerous mechanical workings and out into the cabin. They carried him over to one of the beds.

"Get some oxygen into him," John ordered, seeing his brother's unnaturally red complexion, an early warning sign of carbon dioxide poisoning.

The fresh, clean gas had an almost immediate reviving effect, and Virgil's brown eyes looked up at three worried faces. "I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" John checked. "Take it easy for a while."

Virgil tried to sit up and was held down by Alan and Gordon. "I'm fine!" he insisted. "Let's get this rescue underway again."

"You can lie there while we do," John instructed. "We won't need your help in the short term… Alan, do you want to take over the life-support console?"

"Sure," Alan slipped into the seat. "I'm ready."

"Can you hear me, Scott?"

"I can. He's okay?"

"He'll be fine. Keep an eye on the readouts from the ORB. I'm going to fire The Mole up."

"F-A-B."

Scott watched the readout that was their main link with the children at the bottom of the mineshaft. "No vibrations reported."

"Increasing speed by point two…" John pressed forward on the accelerator. "How's that?"

"No change."

"Increasing…"

"No change…"

"Increasing… That's the speed we were at when we had to stop…"

"Nothing showing up. Keep going…"

By now Virgil had divested himself of his oxygen mask and was sitting on the edge of the bed watching proceedings. He received a congratulatory pat on the back from Gordon.

"Increasing…"

"No change…"

"Still increasing…"

"Still no change… It's incredible what a difference that repair has made."

"Half speed…"

"Take it easy, John," Scott warned. "I think I picked something up then. Increase by half a point."

"Increas…"

"Whoa! Back off one point… There, that's your sweet spot in the short term. Well done, fellas! I'll let base know we're proceeding at speed."

Gordon held out his hand to Virgil. "Congratulations," he said solemnly as they shook. "You must be the first person ever to be swallowed whole by a mole and survived."

Virgil grinned, his mood buoyant after the successful repair. "It can't have been hungry. It spat us both out." He stood and stretched and walked over to the main console to check the readouts.

John, glancing back over his shoulder frowned. "You're limping! Are you hurt?"

"No," Virgil lifted his foot so his brothers could see the sole of his boot… or where it had been. "I guess The Mole has a taste for shoe leather."

"Boy, you were lucky!" John exclaimed. "I was imaging having to scrape you off bits of metal."

"You nearly had to," Virgil admitted. "I was right in the path of the gears when The Mole kind of shoved me out of the way, just as the whole thing shut down."

Alan twisted around in his seat to fix his brother with a querying look. "The Mole 'kind of shoved you'? How do you mean?"

"Well…" Virgil said slowly as he thought. "The gears had almost grabbed my leg when something shunted me into the void." He rubbed a bruised shoulder and then noticed a graze on the back of his hand. "It sure packed a wallop!"

"Almost as if someone had pushed you out of the way?" Alan asked.

Bemused by the question Virgil frowned. "Well… I suppose you could describe it that way… Why?"

"Because the same thing happened to Gordon and me."

"Hang on, Alan," John exclaimed. "What do you mean the same thing happened?"

"Gordon told me that someone pulled him clear and that's why he flew across the room. Except that none of us were anywhere near him!"

"Alan!" Gordon complained as he received worried looks from his elder brothers. "You're making me sound like I'm more nutty than one of Grandma's Christmas cakes!"

Alan resisted the temptation to agree with him. "I had the same thing happen to me topside." He told his brothers about his narrow escape. "I'd almost swear on Thunderbird Three's maintenance handbook that someone helped me up. But the only other person there was Marteen, and he was in no shape to help, plus I'd strapped him up so he couldn't move… mostly."

"I'm getting that Christmas cracker feeling again," John admitted, turning back to check The Mole.

"And how about those kids?" Alan asked. "Scott hasn't reported any changes to the ORB's readings. So, either that means that it's not working, or it's picking up a constant signal from something…"

"And the only organisms within range likely to give off a signal as strong as that are five children," Virgil mused, trying to make sense of the evidence. He threw his hands up in the air in frustration. "But that's impossible…! Isn't it?"

"As impossible as the three of us being helped to safety when no one's about?" Alan asked. "And Scott didn't seem to be willing to disbelieve me when I told him. D'ya think that he'd experienced something similar when he nearly got caught by that cave in?"

"He'd never admit it," Gordon asserted. "He'd try and convince himself that it was just his super fast reflexes."

"Well," Alan said. "I'm beginning to think that we're getting help on this rescue… And I'd hazard a guess who from…"

---F-A-B---

Santa Claus stood and stretched. "Well, now that we know that all is well, if my host will permit me, I think I might retire to bed. It might no longer be Christmas Day on Tracy Island, but it is late."

"Good idea, Santa," Jeff agreed. "And I might do the same. I'll tell Scott to let me know when they're about to make the final push to rescue those children."

"You'll come and get me when you get word?" Santa asked. "You never know, I might be of service."

"Sure," Jeff replied. "Hopefully from now on it'll all be plain sailing."

"Sailing? Underground?" Santa let out a belly laugh. "The mind boggles."

Jeff chuckled.

---F-A-B ---

"Are you ready?" Verna poked her head through the entrance to where Scott was working.

"Yep!" He gave her a broad smile as she entered carrying a foil-covered plate. "Good news! We've managed to get some more speed out of The Mole. Things should be happening soon…" He caught a whiff of something warm and fragrant and his spirits lifted even further. "That smells great!"

Verna lifted the edge of the foil. "Roast ham and vegetables. There's pudding later."

Scott's mouth watered as he removed the foil and the aromatic steam rose. "My compliments to the caterers."

"Well, it is Christmas Day. They're making that little extra effort," Verna replied. She watched him savour his first bites. "Do you realise that the caterers will have 'by appointment to International Rescue' printed on all their stationery?" She smiled. "I'll leave you to enjoy your meal and I'll come back later with your dessert."

Scott already enjoying what was, after so many hours, a feast, swallowed hastily. "Thanks."

Verna beamed at him. "You're welcome."

---IR---

---F-A-B---

"…And the world waits breathlessly for the news of the fate of the five children trapped in the old Blaque Hill mine in the town of Puzz."

"We know that," Grandma scolded the television set. "Tell us something we don't know!"

"We'll know before anyone else." Jeff glanced away from the TV towards at his mother. "Scott said he'd radio through when they were getting close…"

"Base from Mobile Control."

"Speak of the devil," Santa chortled.

Jeff had the radio link open faster than you could say 'Merry Christmas'. "What's the situation, Scott?"

"All good. They're nearing stage two. I've told the locals they can listen in, and I'll keep the link open on one-way so you can hear what's going on." Scott heard an excited babble nearing his shelter. "I'd better sign off before someone hears your voice."

"F-A-B, Scott. We'll be listening to every word."

---IR---

---F-A-B---

"Reducing speed," Gordon's voice announced. "We're in line with the cage… now!" He applied the brakes and, apart from its auxiliary motors, The Mole was stilled.

Scott was no longer alone in his shelter beneath Thunderbird One's undercarriage. Bryce Fuller and Verna Obale, the Teeasis, the Doaks, and the mine workers who had helped earlier were all waiting impatiently. Kyla Batim was there too, having been summoned from her vigil at Marteen's bedside.

Scott's full attention was on Mobile Control. "That's good, Gordon. Start boring."

"Start boring?" Bryce asked. "I though they'd just stopped."

"Obviously The Mole can't get too close because of the risk of further cave ins," Scott explained. "So they've stopped ten metres away, but parallel to the cage. Now they've got to use a laser borer to drill a half-millimetre diameter hole. Once that's done they'll increase the diameter of the hole a millimetre at a time. When it's ten millimetres in diameter then we'll send a microphone across to try to pick up signs of life. What we find will determine how we proceed from there."

"Do you think there's any chance of them being alive?" Jeanne asked.

With all the assurance of an innocent five-year-old, Jenni looked up at her mother. "Santa will look after them. He told me he would."

Wishing that he had the little girl's confidence, Scott attempted to supply a more realistic answer without dashing anyone's hopes. "They've been underground twenty four hours. We don't know their condition or the conditions of their surroundings and we won't know that until we've got the mike in there. We can only wait."

"We've penetrated," Gordon announced. "Widening hole."

Harri put his arms about his wife and daughter and held them close. "The suspense is killing me."

"Hang in there, Harri," Bryce replied placing a hand on his employee's shoulder. "It won't be long now."

"Two millimetres," Gordon said.

"Eight to go," Enid breathed.

"Three millimetres."

Cal held up his uninjured hand, his fingers roughly three millimetres apart. "It's got to go from this…" he pulled his fingers further apart. "To this… How long will it take?"

"Four millimetres."

"Not long by the sounds of it," Don Subish said.

It didn't take long, but it seemed an age to those waiting impatiently in the makeshift shelter. Finally they heard the words they'd been waiting for. "Ten millimetres. We're sending down the microphone." There was a pause. "Well… I guess this is the moment of truth..."

"Patch it through to here on one-way, Gordon," Scott instructed. "We want to hear every sound and I want a readout of every signal."

"F-A-B." Another pause. "Switching on receiver."

There was a breathless silence beneath Thunderbird One. Even the winds appeared to sense the gravity of the situation and had died down.

Scott stared at the readouts he was receiving from below ground. He could not believe what he was seeing… It was impossible… Not after 24 hours…

The voice from underground broke the silence. To Scott's ears, trained for years to interpret the nuances of his brothers' speech, Gordon sounded just as disbelieving. "This is International Rescue," he announced. "Can you hear me?"

There was an excited clamour of childish voices over the radio. Eventually the racket died done enough for a single voice to be heard. "International Rescue! For real? Minty!"

Gasping in shock, Enid put her hand to her face. "That's Steffen! He's alive! Cal! Steffen's alive!"

Cal's face was wreathed in smiles. "I know, Honey. I heard him."

"For real," Gordon was responding to the youngster's query. "Is anyone hurt? Is anyone, ah… not moving or seems to be in a really deep 'sleep'?"

"I'm thirsty," Steffen complained.

"I'll bet you are," Gordon said. "Don't worry; we've got some special drinks waiting for you when we get you out of there. How's everyone else?"

oHHH

"Darrell's hurt his arm," a girl said.

"Tara!" Harri exclaimed. "Jeanne! Did you hear her? It's Tara! But where's Liam?"

"I know what you mean by 'really deep sleep'," Tara continued on, "But we're all alive."

A cheer went up above ground and Scott found himself caught up in an exuberant hug of joy. "Oh…" Blushing furiously Verna backed away, realising that she'd just hugged a virtual stranger. "I'm sorry. I got carried away."

"That's okay." Scott winked. "I couldn't wish for a better Christmas present."

"Can I join International Rescue when I grow up?" Steffen was asking. "I want to fly Thunderbird Two!"

"We'll see," Gordon laughed. "Her pilot might have something to say about that. Now, I'm going to switch on a light. It's going to get brighter slowly. Let me know if you want me to stop."

Jeanne grabbed Scott by the arm. "Can we talk to them? I need to hear Liam's voice. I want him to know we're here!"

Scott shook his head. "I'm sorry, but not yet. They're calm now and we want to keep them calm. If they panic they might bring everything down on top of them."

"Not even a 'hello' or an 'it won't be long'?" she pleaded. "I want to tell them I love them and I miss them."

"I know you do, and I'm sorry," Scott apologised again. "I know you've waited a long time but I promise you we're beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Please be patient for a little while longer." He turned back to his microphone. "John. See if Gordon can get each of them to say something without worrying them. Their parents want to hear their voices."

John must have relayed the message, because those above ground could hear Gordon speaking again. "Now, let me see if I've got this straight. There's five of you, right?"

There was a chorus of "Right!"

"Who's youngest?"

"Me," Steffen replied. "I'm six."

"Who's got the closest birthday?" Gordon asked.

"I'm going to be nine in two weeks," Laim said proudly. "I'm going to have a big party."

Scott glanced over to Jeanne in time to see her close her eyes in relief and relax back against her husband.

"Who's the bossiest?" Gordon asked.

"Tara," Liam announced. "She's my big sister."

"Liam! I am not," Tara complained.

"Yes, you are. You're bossier than Darrell."

"No, she's not," Steffen declared. "Darrell's bossier."

"No, he's not."

"Yes, he is."

"Don't worry about it, guys," Gordon suggested. "They'll always be bossy. Mine still bosses me about, even at my age." Scott listening closely, fought an impulse to make a flippant remark in reply. "Who's the cleverest?"

"Me!" came the reply and there were chuckles from the adults listening in.

"Hiya, 'Me'. Do you have another name?"

"Clive!" Clive replied. "My teachers all say that I'm the smartest in my class."

"Do they," Gordon replied. "I have a puzzle for you then. What do you have in December that you don't have in any other month?"

"Oh, oh! I know!" Liam chanted. "Christmas!"

"No," Gordon replied. "Try again."

"Hanukkah," Clive suggested.

"Nope. Try again." There was silence. "Do you give up?"

There was a three part chorus of, "Yes."

"Are you sure you've given up?"

"Yes."

"Really, really sure?"

"Yes!"

"Really, really, _really_ sure?"

Scott smiled. That was Gordon. Endearingly irritating.

"Tell us," Clive demanded.

"The letter 'D'," Gordon supplied

One of the younger children burst out laughing as the adults groaned. Scott shook his head. "Sorry, everyone. That's about his level of humour."

"Who's oldest?" Gordon was saying.

"Darrell," Steffen replied.

"We haven't heard much from you, Darrell," Gordon said. "Is your arm very sore?"

There was a pained "Yes" in reply.

"In what way is it sore? Does it hurt to touch?"

"Yes," Darrell ground out. "Looks funny too."

"Well, hang in there, Pal. We'll have you out of there as soon as we can. We've already started drilling a hole towards you… Who wants to hear some more jokes?"

"Me!"

Bryce looked at his watch. "10.05pm. Do you think you'll have them out by midnight?"

Scott checked his own chronometer. "We're not going to rush unnecessarily, but if nothing goes wrong it's possible."

"Thanks." Bryce grinned. "I'd better let the outside world know." He spoke into a radio. "They're all alive…" He'd opened his mouth to continue when a euphoric roar was heard from the marquee.

"Someone's happy," Don said dryly.

"Bce," the radios squawked. "This is Tre of the Wrld Nes..."

"What?" Bryce shouted into the radio.

The owner of the voice raised his voice to make himself heard over the raucous noise. "How are the children? Do we know if any of them are hurt?"

"Darrell, the 13-year-old boy, appears to have hurt his arm," Bryce replied, and then had to yell to repeat himself."

"Badly?"

"We don't know…"

---F-A-B---

"…And so, the townsfolk of Puzz are hopeful that they may yet receive the Christmas present they've been praying for all day. Word from International Rescue is that they will have them out of the mine before Christmas day is over…"

"That's not what Scott said you idiot," Grandma told the TV set. "Listen! He said that they _might_ be out by midnight, depending on how things proceed."

"Calm down, Mother," Jeff told her. "You know how these journalists are."

"I know they're a bunch of idiots," she retorted.

Santa Claus burst out laughing. "A journalist once asked me to what I attributed my long life."

She favoured him with a bright smile. "What did you tell him, Santa?"

"That I had had a long life because I was born centuries ago." Santa's belt buckle rode up and down as he laughed.

---F-A-B---

Scott glanced out through the transparent sheet that looked down over Thunderbird Two. Next to the trolley The Mole had originally been transported on, some people had erected floodlights and appeared to be assembling some scaffolding. Concerned he turned to Verna Obale. "What's going on?"

"The media want to capture the moment when the children are reunited with their families," Verna explained. "But we don't want to compromise your security. When your 'Mole' returns to the surface, then the children can exit it behind the screen and come out to meet their parents. It's a win-win situation."

Scott had his doubts about the plan, but appreciated the effort that was going in to ensuring that everyone's interests were taken into account. Besides, it was Christmas! Just… It couldn't hurt just this once.

---F-A-B---

"How's the drilling going, Virgil?" John asked.

"We're kicking up a lot of dust and some of it's making its way into the mine shaft," Virgil replied, his attention on the readout from the larger drill that was boring its way through the barrier between them and the trapped children. They had already bored another hole through with the laser and the larger, mechanical drill was following this path. "We're going to have to drill another hole to extract the dust so the children don't breathe it in."

"I'm onto it," Alan said, settling at the controls. Minutes later two holes of the required size had been pushed through the rock. "Sending down extractor tube and oxygen feed."

---F-A-B---

In the dim light that lit up their prison, five children huddled. Tara had removed her sweatshirt and was in the process of wrapping it around Darrell's injured arm. The younger children were still enjoying Gordon's jokes.

"What do you call a gigantic polar bear?"

"Dunno," Liam replied. "What do you call a gigantic polar bear?"

"Nothing," Gordon replied. "You just run away!" The children laughed.

"I know I would," John muttered.

"What is black and white and found in the Sahara Desert?" Gordon asked.

"Tell us," Steffen begged.

"A _very_ lost penguin." Gordon laughed along with the children's giggles. "What do you get when you cross a snowman with a vampire?"

"Oh! Oh! I know!" Clive exclaimed. "Frostbite!"

"Well done," Gordon congratulated. "Why are Christmas trees like bad knitters…?"

At that moment Alan's vacuum pump started sucking dust from the inside of the mine shaft, while at the same time another pump replaced the extracted air with clean oxygen.

"What's that noise?" Steffen whimpered, his eyes wide.

"What noise?" Gordon asked, concerned by the fear in the young boy's voice.

"Something's whistling… It's a flute! It's the ghost! The ghost of the mine…!"

"No, Steffen," Gordon soothed. "It's not a ghost…"

His words were lost as the other children picked up on Steffen's anxieties. "It's the ghost! He's playing his flute!"

"No…"

"He's going to get us!"

"No, it's not a ghost…" Gordon tried to calm the five youngsters, but panic had set in.

"Don't want to see the ghost!"

There was a scream. Scott, listening with visions of success being ripped from their fingers within metres of victory, opened up the radio link. "Alan! Shut down the vacuum!"

"Shutting down."

"Calm them down, Gordon!"

"I'm trying! They're not listening to me!"

Panicked voices were still filling the airwaves.

"I'm s-scared!"

"Marda!"

"It's going to take us away!"

"I want to go home!"

"I don't want to see the ghost any more!"

"I want my Marda and Parda."

"Don't like it here!"

"Help me!"

Over the screams and tears Scott turned to face some fretful parents. "This is where we need your help. Enid, you're Steffen's mother. See if you can calm him down…"

"All right." Enid stepped closer to Mobile Control. "What do I say?"

"Anything that you know will calm him down… Gordon," Scott ordered. "Patch us through."

"F-A-B."

Scott indicated the microphone. "You're on."

"Steffen…" Enid croaked into the microphone. Then she cleared her throat. "Steffen… Darrell… Can you hear me…?" There was no response. "Stef-fen… Dar-rell…" she cooed. "Listen to me." Hesitantly at first and then with more assurance, she started to sing a local Christmas carol.

"Quiet…" the radio said. "Can you hear something? Listen!"

Enid continued singing and the sounds of panic started to fade away.

"W-Who's there?" a child asked.

"Stef-fen… Dar-rell… Can you hear me?" Enid repeated. "It's Marda."

There was a big sniff. "Marda?" Darrell whimpered. "Is that you?"

"The g-ghost scareded me," Steffen added.

"It's all right, Steffen. There are no ghosts. Isn't that right, Darrell?"

"My arm hurts, Marda." They could hear a quiver in the eldest boy's voice.

"I know, Sweetheart, and I wish I could kiss it and make it better. As soon as International Rescue get to you they'll help you."

"Is my Marda there?" Tara asked.

"I'm here," Jeanne replied. "I think you and Liam are being very brave."

"I'm scared too, Marda," Liam sniffed.

"Don't be scared, Liam," Jeanne cajoled. "It won't be long and we'll see you again."

"Am I being brave, Mrs Teeasi?" Clive asked.

"You're very brave," Kyla said. "You all are."

"Marda!?" Clive sniffed. "I miss you and Parda."

"And we miss you. We love you." Kyla said. "We'll see you all very, very soon."

Apart from an occasional sniff, the mine shaft was silent.

"I'm sorry that the whistling scared you," Gordon apologised to the trapped children. "It's not a ghost. It's one of our machines taking all the dirt out so you can breathe. You can't hear it now, can you?"

"No," Tara admitted.

"Now, in a moment my friend is going to turn it on again," Gordon continued. "I want you to all listen to it." He nodded at Alan, who flipped a switch. "Can you hear the whistling?"

"Yes."

"It doesn't sound like a flute, does it?"

"No."

"There's nothing to be frightened of, is there?"

"No." The quiet voice belonged to Clive.

"Good. Now where were we? Who can remember my last joke?"

"Why are Christmas trees like bad knitters?" Tara asked.

"Tara's asked the question, does anyone know the answer?" Gordon asked. "No…? They both drop their needles. What's the…"

In the chilly air of a pre-midnight Christmas day, Bryce Fuller groaned. "Is this guy ever going to run out of corny jokes?"

"Knowing Gordon, probably not," Scott admitted. He grinned at Bryce's exasperated face. "You think this is bad? Consider yourself lucky. You don't have to work with him. He's diabolical when he's let loose!"

"You have my deepest condolences." Bryce gave the man from International Rescue a conciliatory pat on the back. "Putting him underground must seem like a dream come true!"

Scott laughed.

---IR---

---F-A-B---

The drill broke through.

"Light! Look, Darrell. There's a hole! I can see light through the hole!" Tara exclaimed. "We'll be out soon."

Darrell groaned in pain, unwilling to move.

Clinging to the cage's framework, the three younger children crowded closer to the beacon to freedom; frustratingly beyond an iron barrier and stretching away from them.

---F-A-B---

"There you are, John." Alan held a laser out to his brother.

"Not that I'm complaining, but why me? I don't remember discussing this."

"Because you're the scrawniest of us all," Alan informed him.

John pulled himself up to his full height, inches above that of his brothers. "I am not scrawny, Runts. I am sinewy." He reached into a cupboard and pulled out his caving overalls and a harness.

"You're a bean-pole," Alan said. "And at the moment we need someone with the physique of a stick insect to climb through that tunnel. You're the man for the job."

"Bean pole. Stick insect," John muttered as he got dressed. "I'm just as strong as any of you guys," he protested. "Once we're finished here I'm challenging each and every one of you to any contest of strength you can dream up." He held out his hand. "Where's that laser and the jacks?"

Alan gave him the tools. "Be careful," he said, now serious. "We've been lucky up till now, but I don't want to stretch Santa's generosity too far."

"If you'd said that twenty-four hours ago I would have been trying to find a nice white jacket with extra long sleeves to give you as a Christmas present," John said as he checked the laser. "Okay, I'm ready."

"Good luck, John," Virgil said.

"Good luck, John," Gordon echoed. "Hang in there, kids. There's a man coming down the tunnel. He's going to cut the cage so you can get out. It won't be long now."

Even with John's lithe body, the tunnel they'd carved through the ground was still a tight squeeze. The ten metre crawl, pushing his tools in front of him, seemed to take an age, but at last John was at the end and face-to-face with five grimy children. They were in a space that gave them room to move, but not to stretch out. "Hiya, Kids."

"Hello, Mr International Rescue," Clive said.

"That's a mouthful," John replied. "You can call me John."

"Can I call you John too?" Steffen asked, his eyes gleaming.

"You can," John grinned.

"Which Thunderbird do you fly?"

"Technically I don't 'fly' my Thunderbird," John informed the excited six-year-old. "I'm usually in charge of Thunderbird Five."

"Oh." Steffen seemed to lose some of his enthusiasm. "The space station."

"It's an important part of our fleet," John explained as he readied the laser. "If it wasn't for Thunderbird Five we wouldn't have found out that you were stuck down here."

"I guess."

John could imagine his brothers laughing at the conversation. So what if Thunderbird Five wasn't as glamorous as the other craft: she still performed a vital role in the organisation. And John was proud of her. "Right," he said, trying not to sound too disgruntled at the perceived slight against his beloved satellite. "I'm going to place these two jacks here…" he wedged each of the tools on either side of the tunnel entrance, "…so that when I cut away this ironwork everything can't collapse on top of us." He extended the jacks so they were braced against the rock ceiling above them. "Now, I want you all to turn around and not look at the laser while I'm cutting. I'll tell you when you can turn back…" He put on a pair of safety spectacles. "Shield your eyes."

Tara put her arms over the heads of the two younger boys, forcing them to look away. John grinned. _"We've got a female Scott here," _he thought as the blue light of the laser filled the chamber with an eerie glow.

"How's it going, John?"

"No problems, Gordon," John replied; trimming the base of the ironwork so that it was free of sharp and jagged edges. "Coupla minutes should do it."

With no way of disposing of a complete section of cage, John cut up the side of the frame up into smaller bits that were able to be disposed of easily. The last piece fell away. "There! That's it! You can look around again."

"Can we leave now?" Liam asked.

"In a moment. How's your arm, Darrell?" John looked at the boy who wasn't looking very happy.

"Okay."

"Do you think you can crawl through the tunnel?"

Darrell gave a reluctant nod.

"Good. We'll start with the youngest and work our way up to the oldest, okay?" John explained. "So that's Steffen first. Then Liam…"

"Then me!" Clive interrupted.

"That's right," John chuckled. "Then Tara, and finally Darrell. Does everyone understand?" Everyone understood. "Good… Come on, Steffen. You can help push me backwards down this tunnel."

Steffen wasn't much help, but Alan and Virgil were, pulling on the straps that were attached to John's harness. When they were able to reach John's feet they grabbed him and pulled until he popped out of the tunnel like a cork. "That gives me a whole new appreciation of what it's like to be a worm," he said, stretching.

"Wow!" Steffen was standing, blocking the tunnel entrance, gazing about him in awe. "Is this The Mole?"

"It is," Virgil guided the youngster away to the passengers' seats so Liam had room to slither out of the tunnel. "You wanted a something to drink, didn't you, Steffen?" He gave him one of Brains' reviving tonics. "This will make you feel better."

Steffen appeared to be more interested in checking out The Mole. "It's not as big as I thought it would be."

"It's a lot bigger on the outside," Virgil told him. "Upsadaisy!" He lifted the boy onto one of the seats and strapped him in for the return trip.

Steffen slurped at his drink. "Yum! Strawberry!"

Virgil frowned. Brains' concoction was tasteless. "Strawberry?"

Steffen downed the liquid and then held out his cup for more. "What Thunderbird do you fly?"

"Thunderbird Two." As he handed the child the refilled cup, Virgil was treated to a look of awestruck admiration and couldn't resist glancing over to see his elder brother's reaction. John remained poker faced.

"Wow! Can I see her?"

"Wouldn't you rather see your parents?

"I guess… Then can I see Thunderbird Two?"

Virgil laughed. "We'll see."

"Here's a drink for you, Liam." Gordon held out a cup of the flavourless revitalising liquid.

Liam took it eagerly and downed it in one sitting. "Can I have some more?" he asked. "I like chocolate."

"Chocolate?" Gordon refilled the cup.

"Mine was strawberry flavoured," Steffen boasted.

Gordon and Virgil shared mystified glances.

Liam was staring up at Gordon in adoration. "Tell me a joke."

"Okay." Gordon dismissed the mystery of the multi-flavoured drinks from his mind. "What's the best thing to put into a Christmas cake?"

Liam screwed up his face in thought. "Ummm… I give up."

"Your teeth…" Gordon buckled a giggling Liam onto one of the seats.

Clive was assisted out of the tunnel by Alan. "Tara's not coming."

Alan stared at the boy. "What? Why?"

"She says she's not leaving Darrell and he doesn't want to move."

Gordon got back on the microphone. "Tara, please crawl out."

"No, Darrell's hurt and I'm not leaving him."

"Do you want to crawl out first, Darrell?" Gordon asked. "We want to get you both out in one piece."

"My arm hurts."

"I know," Gordon admitted. "Does it hurt too much to move?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to have to go back in," John sighed. He gestured to Gordon to give him the microphone. "Tara, this is John. I'm going to have to give Darrell some first aid, but there's not enough room in there for the three of us. You're going to have to crawl out before I crawl back in."

They could hear a whispered conversation coming out of the speakers before Tara spoke again. "I'm coming."

"Thanks, Tara. I'll go back in as soon as you're in The Mole." John handed Gordon the microphone and waited by the tunnel entrance. A short time later Tara's head poked out through the hatch, and she was assisted into the cabin. "See you soon."

"John's on his way, Darrell," Gordon told the injured boy. "He'll be there to help you in no time. Do you know any jokes?"

"No."

"How about this one? What's the most popular wine at Christmas?" There was a quiet sniff, but no reply. "Darrell? Do you know the answer?"

"No."

"_Do I have to eat my Brussel sprouts?_" Gordon whined and Liam cracked up. "Ah, a fan."

John reached the end of the tunnel. Full of children, the damaged miners' cage had seemed tiny. Empty apart from a very wretched boy, it still looked small. "I'm not sure I can fit."

"What are you going to do then?" Gordon asked.

"My best," John pulled himself forward, for once in his life wishing he wasn't so tall. Somehow, feeling like a piece of origami, he managed to fold himself in the cage in such a way that he was able to look at Darrell's injured arm. "It's broken," he said. "A greenstick fracture by the looks of it. I think an inflatable splint will hold it still until we get you to proper medical help." He gave Darrell a reassuring smile, and was rewarded with a timorous one in reply.

The inflatable splint did a lot to help Darrell's confidence, and when he realised that the pain was at a more bearable level, he became almost cocky again. "How're we gonna get out?"

"Shuffle," John replied. "We'll shuffle about until you can climb out. "I'll follow you… Gordon…"

"Yes, John?"

"I'm going to undo the straps. They're going to be more of a hindrance than a help." John undid the fastenings that attached the straps to his harness. "Right, they're free. Pull them out." His link with The Mole slithered away down the tunnel. "Okay, Darrell. Let's move."

They developed a kind of shuffling rhythm. Darrell would slide around a couple of inches, stop, and then John would follow until he couldn't move any further and Darrell had to start sliding again. Eventually the boy reached the tunnel's entrance. "I can get out now."

"Good," John grunted, dying for a stretch. "Off you go."

Keeping his injured arm clear of all obstacles, Darrel rolled into the tunnel and started crawling. As he tried to gain traction his foot pushed against one of the jacks, knocking it out from where it was supporting the roof. John grabbed at it, but his cramped position meant that his constrained fingers didn't even make contact.

As the rumbling sound above his head reached a rapid crescendo, and dust and debris started pelting down on him, all John could do was cover his head with his arms and hope that Santa's generosity extended as far as him…

_To be continued… _


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

People were crowded around Mobile Control, waiting for that moment when the nightmare they'd endured for the last 24 hours would end. They waited… Listening…

"_Come on, Darrell. You're nearly there…"_

The crowd held its collective breath.

"_That's it… Give me your good arm and I'll help to pull you out…"_

The air was thick with the suspense of waiting.

"_Welcome aboard The Mole. How are you feeling?"_

"_My arm's sore."_

"_Let me…"_ The rest of the sentence was obliterated by the cheer that roared out above ground.

"He's okay!" Cal grabbed his wife with his good arm and swung her around. "Our boys are safe! They're both okay!"

"I can't believe it!" Enid exclaimed, somewhat breathless from her unexpected spin. "My babies are alive! Oh, Cal! They're coming home!"

Harri wrapped his arms around Jeanne and planted a kiss on her which a tough miner like him would normally have only given when they were alone in the privacy of their own home.

Kyla, was trying to make herself heard on her mobile phone. "Tell my husband that the children are all safe! That's right! They're safe! All of them! Tell Marteen that Clive and I will be seeing him soon!"

The mayor of Puzz and the manager of the Puzz Mining Company, temporarily forgetting their animosity towards each other, embraced; thrilled by the sheer joy of the moment.

"I told you Santa would look after them," Jenni insisted, but no one was listening. The adults were all caught up in the wave of euphoria that spilled out of the temporary shelter and into the nearby marquee.

All except for one person.

Verna Obale was the first to realise that the man from International Rescue was not joining in their celebrations. Instead he was hunched over Mobile Control, his ear close to the speakers as he struggled to hear the conversation that was going on below ground. "What's wrong?"

Bryce Fuller saw the intensity in Scott's posture. "Is everything all right?" he asked and then, realising the problem, turned to the ecstatic group. "Quiet!" he yelled. "Be quiet everyone!"

Slowly the hubbub died down as, first curiosity, and then concern filtered through the assembly.

From Mobile Control's speakers, not panicked, but definitely stressed voices could be heard.

"_John! Can you hear me?!"_

"_How much damage is there to the tunnel?"_

"_I can't tell…"_

"_John! Answer me!"_

"…_There's too much rubble in the way. Gordon, don't worry about getting him on the radio, it's probably damaged. You look after the kids. Get Darrell fixed up and we'll get John."_

"_F-A-B, Virgil."_

"_Do you want me to climb down there?"_

"_Get suited up, Alan. Just in case. I'll contact Scott."_

"What's happened?" Harri asked. "Has something gone wrong?"

Scott indicated the monitor that had previously been showing the ORB's readouts. The screen was blank. "There's been another cave in."

"Are the children okay?" Cal asked.

Scott suppressed the briefest flare of anger. _To heck with the children! What about my brother?_ "They're fine," he responded with no hint of his frustrations. "They're all safe in The Mole. We've lost contact with the operative who went in to get Darrell." The console beeped and he turned his back on the parents, needing to be able to concentrate on his own family's troubles. "Scott, here. How bad is it, Virgil…?"

"Oh, no… Please, no…" Jeanne whispered to no-one in particular. "Not now… They've done so much…"

"Hush, Jeanne." Harri held his wife close, feeling her body start to shake, as the strains of the last 24 hours took their toll. "He'll be okay…" He looked over her head towards Mobile Control. "He's got to be!"

---F-A-B---

Back at International Rescue's base, all but one of the island's inhabitants were on their feet. They'd heard every frightening word that had been picked up by Mobile Control, without the interference Scott had received from jubilant locals.

"Jeff! Is he okay?" Grandma exclaimed.

"I don't know, Mother. Let's hear what Virgil has to say."

"Santa!" Tin-Tin turned to the elfin man. "Is John all right? Can you help him?"

Santa Claus, staring off into space, did not respond.

"Mister Claus appears to assisting someone," Kyrano hypothesised. "Perhaps it is Mister John."

"I h-hope so," Brains stuttered. "This is n-not, er, the Christmas gift the Tracys would w-want to receive th-this year…"

---F-A-B---

"Calling, Mobile Control… Calling, Mobile Control… Come in, Scott."

"John!" Scott pounced on the microphone. "Are you okay!? What happened?"

"I'm okay… I think Santa Claus has been keeping watch over me too."

The profound sense of relief was too much for Jeanne. She burst into tears and had to be comforted by her husband. "Shush, Darling… He's all right…"

Jenni nodded knowingly. "See, Marda. I told you Santa would look after him."

Jeanne gave her daughter a hug. "You did, Darling," she sniffed. "I should have listened to you."

---F-A-B---

John, curled up in the foetal position, couldn't remember having ever been less comfortable… Or feeling more fortunate. The huge boulder that had fallen, grazing his arms as he protected his head, was now acting as the prop that was keeping most of the rest of the rubble off him. He was very aware that if his saviour had fallen a millimetre closer to his unprotected body, the outcome would have been totally different.

In the dim light of his torch, via his wristwatch telecom, John continued to talk to his brothers. "There's a big rock blocking the tunnel that doesn't appear to be supporting anything. If you can get rid of that somehow, I should be able to slide out. My head's right next to it."

"Are you sure removing it's not going to bring more rubble down on top of you?" Scott asked.

"I'm kind of curled around the one that's the main support. So long as we don't shift that one I think I'm safe."

"I'll crawl down the tunnel and attach a line," Alan offered. "Maybe then we'll be able to pull it out."

"Won't work, Alan," John replied. "I found it a struggle getting down here. You'd find it impossible."

"I'll climb down!" Clive offered. "I'm smaller than you."

"Thanks for the offer, Pal," Gordon smiled down on the eleven-year-old. "But we've just rescued you once. We don't want to have to do it again."

Clive stuck his chest out. "I won't need rescuing again!" he asserted.

"Your parents are probably listening," Alan informed the boy. "I don't think they'd be too happy with us if we let you put your neck on the line."

"They can hear me?" Clive asked. "Let me help International Rescue, Parda! Please, Marda, I can do it. You know I can!"

There was a brief pause and then a female voice seemed to materialise out of nowhere. "Clive, listen to those men."

"But, Marda…!"

"I want you safe. I need you to come home safe and your Parda needs you to come home safe too. Do you understand?"

Downcast, Clive responded with "Yes, Marda."

"'Sides," Steffen said. "I'm the one going to join International Rescue, not you!"

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not. You're too little."

"Yes, I am. Gordon said I could! Isn't that right, Gordon?"

"Boys!" Gordon shushed them. "Be quiet! International Rescue members don't argue."

His two brothers shared a disbelieving glance before Alan leant closer to Virgil, whispering so he couldn't be overheard. "He must have hit his head harder than I realised."

"How close are you to that rock blocking the tunnel, John?" Scott was asking.

John felt above him. "I can fit my fist between the rock and my head…" he replied. "Just."

"Is your face towards or facing away from it?"

"That's with my face pressed up against this dirty great big boulder!"

"Okay, John," Scott soothed. "Hang in there. We'll soon have you out. We'll try vaporising the blockage."

"Sorry," John apologised. "But I'm not very comfortable at the moment. Vaporising sounds like a good idea."

Virgil heard his brother's plan and started preparing one of the lasers. "I won't try to break right through, John. I'll reduce the rock's size so it's small enough for you to push out of the way. Are you happy with that?"

"At the moment, if it meant me getting out of here any quicker, I'd be happy with you planting a stick of dynamite and blowing the thing up."

"Ohhh. Pyrotechnics!" Gordon enthused winking at his brothers. "Let me at 'em!" He went to some of the storage cabinets at the far end of The Mole and pretended to search through them.

"On second thoughts, I think I'd prefer Virgil's laser."

"John…" Gordon pretended to be gutted. "That's not fair. I'd only make it a little explosion. Not too loud." He froze, seeing something unexpected. "What's this?"

Alan, going through the neighbouring cabinets for further equipment of genuine use for John's rescue, heard a note of disbelief in his brother's voice. "What's what?"

"This?" Gordon pulled out a box. In contrast to the utilitarian greys, reds, and browns and the occasional splash of rescue orange and yellow that made up The Mole's colour scheme, the box was a brightly coloured affair. Gold and silver stripes shimmered amongst the green and red.

"It's pretty," Tara exclaimed. "What does the label say?"

Gordon turned the box so he was able to read the aforementioned label. "_From Santa Claus_…" He looked at Alan. "Why aren't I surprised?"

"What's inside?" Alan asked.

Gordon opened the parcel. "Christmas crackers… Five of them…" He smiled at the five children. "It looks like you're starting your Christmas celebrations underground." He held out the mystery package and allowed each of the children to select a cracker. Even Darrell, who'd been playing for sympathy, was eager to claim a novelty. There were a series of pops and squeals of delight.

Alan and Gordon wandered back over to where Virgil was still calibrating the laser. "I'll keep the kids occupied," Gordon whispered. "You guys can concentrate on helping John."

"F-A-B," Virgil replied.

"Gordon!" Liam exclaimed as the man from International Rescue sat beside him. "What do you get if you cross Father Christmas with a duck?" he read.

"I don't know, Liam. What do you get if you cross Father Christmas with a duck?"

"A Christmas Quacker!" Liam burst out laughing.

Gordon laughed with him. "That's a good one. Who else has a riddle?"

"Me! Me! Me!" Steffen held up his hand. "What's red & white and red & white and red & white?"

Gordon chuckled. "Tell me, Steffen."

"Santa rolling down a hill!"

Gordon groaned. "That's terrible!"

"My turn," Clive enthused. "Who is never hungry at Christmas?"

"Well, it's not my big brother," Gordon said. "Who?"

"The turkey, 'cos he is always stuffed."

"I was wrong. It is my brother."

"Can I say mine, Gordon?" Tara asked.

"Go for it."

"What do penguins and polar bears ride?"

Gordon's forehead frowned in thought. "Let's see. Penguins and polar bears… Both animals that live on ice… But they live in different Poles… I give up."

"An ice-cycle!"

"That," Gordon stated, "is definitely Christmas cracker standard. What's your joke, Darrell?"

Darrell, moving gingerly so he didn't bump his injured arm, shifted position so he could look at the man. "Umm," with difficulty he unfolded his riddle. "What kind of motorcycle does Santa ride?" A small smile crossed his face.

"I thought Santa rides in a sleigh," Gordon said.

"He should fly in a Thunderbird. Right, Gordon!" Steffen stated.

"Better in than on," Gordon agreed, trying to suppress a smirk. "Anyone know the answer to Darrell's riddle?" No one did. "Tell us, Darrell."

"A 'Holly' Davidson!"

The children, along with Gordon, roared with laughter.

"Sounds like they're having fun," Virgil said to Alan.

"Hey, Alan!"

"Bother," Alan whispered, suppressing a groan. "I'll try to keep them looking elsewhere." He stood and walked over to the group of children. "What can I do for you, Steffen?"

"Which Thunderbird are you in charge of?"

"Thunderbird Three." Alan felt a sense of pride swell up inside him as he saw how awestruck little Steffen became when he heard the name.

"Thunderbird Three!" The six-year-old squeaked. "That's my favourite!"

"A rocket ship?" Gordon scoffed. "Come on, Steffen. All Thunderbird Three does is act as a taxi between base and Thunderbird Five!"

"It rescued the Sun Probe," Clive remembered.

"And then had to be rescued from Earth," Gordon reminded him. "Right, Alan?"

Alan glared at his brother. "Only because we had to go closer to the sun than we thought we would originally. Thunderbird Three was still strong enough to withstand the sun's rays. Right, Gordon?"

"Right, Alan." Gordon couldn't resist a smirk.

Alan couldn't fail but notice. "If you'll excuse me," he said with dignity, "I have work to do." He returned to where Virgil was waiting patiently.

"Have you ever had to be rescued, Gordon?" Liam asked.

"Me?" Gordon was about to reply in the negative when he had a thought. "Weeeeell," he lowered his voice dramatically. "There was this one time…" he glanced over children's heads and saw his brothers were nearly ready to begin work, "when Thunderbird Four got caught by a giant squid."

"What?" Tara leant closer. "You're kidding?"

"Nope. I was cruising along, having just rescued this boat-load of sailors single-handed, when I felt a jolt. Nothing much, just this little tap on the hull."

"It was the squid?" Liam asked.

"Yes, although I didn't know it at the time. I was slowing down and I didn't know why. I accelerated and it made no difference. More throttle… Nothing. Then…" Gordon's voice grew quiet. "I started going backwards." His engrossed audience barely noticed the blue flicker of light as the laser sparked into life.

"I was trying everything I could think of to get moving again," Gordon continued, "when this huge eye rose out of the water and looked through the viewport at me." Gordon closed one eye and stared at the spellbound children. "It was just staring at me! We were eye-to-eye and I'm thinking: 'This isn't good.'"

"What did you do?" Tara breathed.

"I'm in the clutches of a giant squid. What could I do? All I could do was hang on for dear life as it picked up Thunderbird Four and started shaking me about!" Gordon mimed the action of a bartender using a cocktail shaker. "I was being knocked all over the place!"

---F-A-B---

Bryce Fuller, listening to the open radio communications from The Mole, turned to Scott. "What is this guy talking about? A giant squid!?"

"He's keeping the children occupied so they don't get scared or get in the way of the rescue," Scott explained. "Tell people not to look at something and they'll automatically look at it. Don't draw their attention to it and give them something else to hold their interest and you won't have any problems… And, when it comes to using this technique on children, Gordon's the master…"

---F-A-B---

As Virgil, wearing protective goggles, was carefully vaporising the boulder that stood between John and freedom, Alan was preparing another type of gun. To the projectile he attached the twin straps that he hoped would ultimately pull John to safety.

As his brothers worked, Gordon was continuing his fictional narrative. "Then I could hear this scraping sound along the hull."

"What was it?" Liam asked.

"Squid have beaks similar to a parrot's," Gordon explained. "The giant squid was trying to use its beak to open Thunderbird Four… Just as well she's made of one of the strongest substances known to man."

"How did you escape?" Clive asked. "Did you kill it with one of your rockets?"

"Kill it?" Gordon was surprised by the question. "Why would I want to kill it?"

"Because it was trying to eat you."

"It probably thought I was this giant funny shaped oyster."

"I would have killed it," Steffen bragged.

"Remember I was in its domain," Gordon reminded him. "I was the intruder. I had no right to harm a squid when it was only trying to eat to survive."

"So what did you do!?" Tara pressed.

"Do any of you know how squid escape their enemies?"

"They shoot out a squirt of ink," Clive said. "Then the predator can't see them and they can escape."

"Right!" Gordon agreed. "Go to the top of the class, Clive."

"Is that what you did?" Steffen asked.

"Yep, or more correctly a cloud of smoke. You see, this squid was holding me out of the water at the time. The smoke stung its eyes and it dropped me into the water with this huge _SPLASH_!" Gordon stood, flinging his arms into the air to emphasise the size of the impact. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Virgil had placed the laser on the floor of The Mole.

"Then what did you do?" Liam asked.

"I was outta there!" Gordon slapped his hands together continuing with his narrative. "There was no way I was hanging around to see what the squid's reaction was going to be..."

"I think that'll do," Virgil told Alan. "Are you ready?"

"F-A-B."

"I've finished with the laser, John," Virgil informed his entombed brother. "Alan's going to send down some straps for your harness. We'll use them to pull you out."

"Thanks, Virgil."

"Stand by, John," Alan said. "The force of the projectile might knock the rock onto you."

"Okay," John replied. "I've got my head covered."

"Firing… Now!" A suction cup, trailing the two straps, went flying and thumped into what remained of the lasered boulder. "Bull's-eye! Push on the rock, John. You've got plenty of slack."

A tiny light appeared at the end of the tunnel as John felt about for the first of the straps. His fingers closed on the lifeline, he detached it, and managed to clip it on to the right side of his harness. Then he repeated the procedure, attaching the second strap on to his left. "I'm ready."

"Can you help?" Virgil asked.

"I can't find anything secure to get a grip on," John replied. "Can you guys start pulling and I'll assist when I can?"

"Taking up the slack," Virgil responded. "Pulling… Keep it slow, Alan…"

They started straining on the straps, gently at first, but then with greater vigour as they felt resistance.

"Wriggle," Alan insisted.

"I am wriggling. My legs are jammed around some rubble."

"Well, shift them!"

"They won't bend that way, Alan!"

"Gordon!" Virgil panted. "We need your help."

Gordon excused himself from another fictional tale of his International Rescue exploits and grabbed a handful of strapping. Once again they started tugging. "I think he's moving."

"I am moving," John confirmed, gritting his teeth against the abrasive action of the rocks against his skin.

"Keep pulling, Guys," Gordon encouraged.

"Come on," Clive encouraged his friends. "Let's help!" Each child took hold of the straps and started pulling. Darrell hesitated briefly before deciding that a little pain was a fair trade-off for the right to brag that he'd helped rescue a member of International Rescue.

John reached into the tunnel and found something he could grasp. He pulled himself deeper.

"Pull!"

"Pull!"

"Pu…" A rumbling sound was heard.

"The shaft's imploding!" Alan yelled.

"Get me out of here!" Smothered in dust, John began coughing.

"Pull!" Virgil commanded as dust rolled past John and out into The Mole.

"Get clear, Kids!" Gordon directed. Frightened by the noise and dust, they fell back.

"Grab him!" Virgil ordered. He and Alan reached in to their chocking brother, got hold of him where they could, and, bracing themselves against the wall of The Mole, pulled for all they were worth. With an almost audible noise, John popped out of the tunnel, landing on his siblings. Gordon slammed home the hatch in time to shield them from the rubble that beat a tattoo against The Mole's hull.

For a moment no-one moved as they all struggled to regain their breath.

Alan, supine on the ground beside Virgil with John laying on top of the pair of them, grinned up at his blonde brother. "Nice of you to drop in."

"Thanks for the invitation," John grunted as he struggled into a crouching position.

"John," Virgil groaned. "Would you mind shifting your knee? It's digging in to… thanks."

John sat back against the bulkhead. "Ow! Pins n' needles."

"Are you okay?" Gordon asked solicitously, bending over his brother.

John nodded and rubbed a gritty face. "Isn't it time we got out of here?" Unfolding his legs slowly he got to his feet and brushed the dust from his hair. "Is everyone okay?" he smiled down on the children, and got an instant reaction from one of them. "Thanks for your help."

"Wow!" Steffen exclaimed, wide-eyed. "Wait'll we tell everyone! We helped International Rescue!"

"You did," John agreed. He took a limping step towards one of the seats.

"Are you all right?" Tara asked, looking up at him with rapturous adoration. "Can I help you?" Tentatively she touched him on his sleeve.

"You already have, Honey," John told her, and felt a twinge of concern when she melted at the platonic endearment.

The girl's reaction didn't go unnoticed by John's brothers. "Why don't you sit with the kids and rest, John?" Alan teased. "I'm sure Tara won't mind you sitting next to her."

"No, I don't mind," Tara said quickly as John glared at his kid brother.

"Good idea," Gordon agreed. "You've had a rough time so you can take it easy for a bit, John. We can manage without you and I'm sure one of the children will be happy to help you clean those grazes."

"I'll help!" Tara enthused, gazing up at John with doe-eyes.

"Ah, no… Thanks…" John gave Tara an uncertain smile and then turned away. "I'm better standing…" He limped down towards the command end of The Mole. How's it going, Virgil?" he asked, deliberately focussing his attention on safer things. "Are we ready to head for the stars?"

"Ready when you are…" Virgil had been humming a romantic tune. "…unless you'd rather we didn't hurry."

John leant closer to Virgil's ear. "I expect teasing from those two, but I thought you'd be on my side."

"Why?" Virgil grinned, in a buoyant mood now that the rescue had been completed. "I think you'd make a cute couple."

"Shut up and drive," John growled. "Or else I'll feed you to The Mole again."

---F-A-B---

"They're on their way to the surface," Scott announced.

It was a sentence that Harri Teeasi had been waiting over 24 hours to hear. "How long until they get here?"

"Five minutes."

"Five minutes?!" Bryce Fuller exclaimed. "Everyone, we've got five minutes to get down there! Come on!" There was a mass exodus from the shelter.

All except for Verna Obale and Scott. "If you'll come with me," she suggested, "I'll take you down there in my car. It's got tinted windows and you won't be seen."

"Thanks," Scott said, appreciative of the offer and looking forward to seeing his brothers again.

The trip down the hill was quick and Verna went to drive behind the screens that had been erected earlier to shield The Mole from the TV cameras.

"Don't go in yet," Scott advised. "Let the exhaust gases dissipate first. No one will be getting out until the air's clear, anyway."

They sat in silence, waiting. It seemed to be hours, but was only seconds before, in the screened glare from the television spotlights, smoke was visible from The Mole's bore hole. Verna found herself gripping the steering wheel tightly, waiting for the command to drive forward.

The huge mechanical beast reversed out of its burrow and slotted back onto its caterpillar tracked trolley. Verna stared at the apparition. "Wow!"

Scott chuckled. He looked at his watch. "Five to midnight. It looks like we might be giving everyone a Christmas present after all."

"They couldn't ask for anything better," Verna said and watched as The Mole powered down. "Not long now?"

"Not long now," Scott confirmed.

Verna turned in her seat to look at him. "Chances are that things will get rather hectic very soon, so I'd like to take the opportunity now to say thanks for all you've done. This town owes International Rescue a big debt and I don't know how we can repay it."

"No charge," Scott smiled. "We come cheap."

One minute later there was a new voice in the car. "Air's clear. Exiting Mole."

"F-A-B, John" Scott responded.

They drove forward, until the car and its occupants were hidden from the view of the outside world.

Verna exited the vehicle and looked up to where an enclosed platform was being lowered to the ground. She felt a sense of growing excitement. "I almost feel as if I going to be seeing my own children again."

"You're the mayor, aren't you? They might be children but they're still your constituents; therefore they are under your care…" The platform reached the ground with a gentle thump and Scott hurried forward to offer his assistance. He reached it in time for the door to slide open and he found himself face-to-face with ten smiling people. "Merry Christmas, Everyone. Kids, if you want to go with your mayor, she'll take you to your parents." He indicated Verna.

There were cries of excitement and a mad rush to leave the platform. Even Tara didn't give John a second glance as she raced to be reunited with her family. Darrell, his splint helping him to forget his wounded soldier act, was first to the car.

"Follow me," Verna said, hurrying them around the side of the barrier.

A cheer went up. There were shouts, screams, and tears of joy, along with laughter, song, and applause; it seemed that every jubilant expression was given voice. Flash bulbs exploded and video cameras whirred, and the world watched as the children of the town of Puzz were reunited with their families.

The noise abated somewhat and the bells of the town clock could be heard in the distance: chiming twelve times.

Scott turned back to his brothers and joined them in a brotherly embrace. The four rescuers were scratched, bruised, dirty and slightly odorous. (Gordon, in an effort to cheer Darrell up, had given the teenager his stink bomb just before they'd surfaced.) "Merry Christmas, Fellas. It's great to see you again." He screwed up his nose. "Even if you do stink."

"Blame Alan," Virgil grumbled. "If he'd let me confiscate that thing off Gordon when I tried to, we wouldn't smell now."

Alan dismissed the offer of blame. "I'd wish you a merry Christmas too, Scott," he said, "except that it's not. We've missed it!"

"Oh, yes, it is," Scott grinned. "Travel 15 degrees that way," he pointed west, "and we've still got one hour of Christmas day to go. A fair portion of the world is still celebrating the holiday!"

"Yeah!" Gordon exclaimed. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's go celebrate Christmas!"

"Scott! Scott!" a child's voice could be heard. "Scott!" He turned to the sound as Jenni Teeasi came running up to him.

"Hey, Jenni," Scott crouched down so he was at her eye level. "Are you happy to have your siblings back?"

Jenni gave him an emphatic nod. "Can you say thank you to Santa for me for bringing Tara and Liam and Steffen and Clive and Darrell home?" she asked breathlessly.

Scott gave her a warm smile. "Sure, Honey. I'd be glad to."

"Thank you!" Jenni threw her arms around his neck in a hug, which he returned, and then ran back to where she'd come from.

Scott straightened and turned to find four brothers grinning at him.

"Boys," John drawled. "I think we may have a believer in our midst."

"Well," suddenly feeling coy, Scott shoved his hands into his pockets. "Don't let it ever be said that I'm too proud to change my mind."

"What happened?" Virgil asked. "Did you prefer my dream to yours?"

"I'll tell you when we get back to base," Scott told him. "Come on! Saddle up! Let's go home!"

But their attempt to leave was thwarted again by a not unwelcome party as the Teeasi family stepped out from behind the barrier. "We had to say thank you before you left," Harri explained.

"Steffen, Cal and Enid have gone with Darrell to the hospital and Kyla's taken Clive to see Marteen," Jeanne added. "But they all wanted to say thank you too."

"It's our pleasure," Scott responded. "It's what International Rescue is here for."

"But to give up your Christmas to risk your lives to help total strangers…" Lost for words, Jeanne could only beam at the Tracys.

Harri's smile was equally warm. "'Thank you' seems so inadequate."

"That's all the thanks we need." John was rewarded with _that_ look from Tara and took a surreptitious step so he was hidden from her by Scott.

"But surely we can repay you somehow?" Harri pressed.

"We've received a special Christmas present in seeing your families reunited," Virgil added. "We don't expect anything else."

"Yes," Alan agreed. "This is one Christmas none of us will forget in a hurry."

"You've got some special kids there," Gordon said. "They've been fun to be with and a help too."

"We helped save John's life," Liam said. "Right, John?" John, trying to keep out of Tara's field of vision, nodded.

"Don't forget, Liam," Tara said. "John saved our lives first."

"So did Gordon, and Alan, and Virgil," Liam reminded her.

"And Scott and Santa," Jenni chimed in. "Scott's going to say thank you to Santa Claus for us. He said he would."

"I will, Jenni," Scott reiterated. "I promise."

"I think it's not only Santa and these men we have to thank," Harri noted. "I sure there are lots of people behind the scenes. We have to thank all of International Rescue."

Jeanne looked at Scott. "I said before that I believed that Santa wore blue. Now I know it's true."

"Yes," Harri agreed. "And he doesn't use a sleigh and reindeer: he has Thunderbirds and," he indicated the machine that towered over them and chuckled, "a Mole."

"Come on, Kids," Jeanne placed her hands on her two eldests' shoulders. "Say goodbye, and we'll let these men go home to their families."

"Bye, bye, Scott." Scott had a pair of five-year-old arms wrapped around his legs. "Don't forget what you promised."

"I won't," he reiterated. "Bye, Jenni."

"Bye, Gordon. Bye, Virgil. Bye, Alan," Liam grinned.

"Bye, Liam."

"Goodbye, John," Tara waved.

"Uh… Bye, Ta… uh, Kids."

When the Teeasis had left, the two youngest Tracys smirked at their two oldest brothers. "Awww, is that's nice," Gordon said in a stage whisper to Alan. "Our big brothers have finally found themselves girlfriends."

"About time," Alan stated. "Do you think they want some tips?"

"Shut up," John and Scott said in unison.

Virgil snorted a laugh. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm ready to head home." He stepped back onto The Mole's platform. "See you in Thunderbird Two." He stopped when he felt something cold on his neck. "Hey! Snow!"

"Happy now?" John asked. "You're actually going to see a white Christmas this year."

"For about two seconds," Virgil replied. "Even snow's not going to stop me heading for home."

"How about travelling with me, Alan?" Scott asked.

Somewhat surprised, Alan hesitated. Then he smiled. "Sure, Scott, then we'll be home to celebrate Christmas first!"

"I'm planning on sticking close to Thunderbird Two," Scott advised him. "On Christmas Day, families should be together…"

_To be continued…_


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven - Epilogue**

Two Thunderbirds flew side-by-side through the night skies of the world. They passed out of Christmas day and into Boxing Day.

In Thunderbird Two, Gordon was sitting apart from his brothers, making notes in his book, chortling to himself and, more ominously, humming.

John had joined Virgil at the pilot's console for a companionable chat. "What _is_ he doing?"

"I hope he's not planning on singing Christmas carols," Virgil remarked. "That would be enough to put even Santa Claus off Christmas for life…" Gordon barked out a laugh, clapped his hand over his mouth to smother it, looked guiltily at his brothers and then crossed something out. Virgil groaned. "He's planning something. Shall we dump him into the Pacific while we've got the chance?"

"Might be a good idea," John agreed. "I'll open the emergency hatch and you try out a few trick manoeuvres. No one would ever know."

"They might guess what we've done," Virgil pointed through the cockpit windows to the navigation lights of their sister craft; steering an unerring course parallel to their own.

"You're right." John gave a mock sigh. "Oh, well. It was a good idea and might be worthwhile trying some other time. In the meantime I think we'd better keep our fingers crossed that he hasn't got us in his sights."

Virgil crossed his fingers and tried to maintain his grip on the control yoke. "I don't know that I can keep this up and fly safely. You'd better brace yourself; it might be a rough trip..." Thunderbird Two dropped her wing briefly and then straightened.

"Hey!" Gordon picked himself up from where he'd fallen off his seat onto the floor. "What's the big idea?"

"It's called a warning shot," Virgil called over his shoulder.

"Warning shot? Who's shooting? Warning who?"

"Warning you, little brother," John said. "Be aware that we're on to you."

"Oh, yeah?" Gordon climbed back onto his seat and strapped himself in. "Just you wait!" Thunderbird Two tipped again and Gordon's notebook slipped out of his fingers and across the floor. "Will you stop doing that!?" He unbuckled his safety harness and retrieved his book to the sounds of this brothers' laughter.

---F-A-B---

Scott suppressed a yawn.

"Want me to fly for a bit?" Alan offered.

"No. I'm fine, thanks," Scott stated, not willing to admit that one of the reasons that he'd invited Alan along had been for that very reason. "Just because I haven't had the luxury of as much sleep as some over these last few hours, doesn't mean you can take over."

Alan did some arithmetic. "You must have had about eight hours sleep over the last five days… Eleven if you take into account the deep sleep you would have got in the SWSG. Are you sure you don't want me to fly?"

"I'm sure, Alan. I'm fine." Scott indicated the lightening skies, "We're nearly home anyway."

Alan let the subject drop, Scott was proud of his ability to thrive on little sleep, but not too proud to admit when he needed rest. "When did you start to think that Santa was for real and was helping us?"

"I'd started to wonder who was actually in charge of this rescue a long time before I found you sitting at Mobile Control looking as if you'd been dragged out of the bore hole backwards."

"I felt like it," Alan admitted and watched Scott yawn again. "Are you sure you don't want me to fly? I won't tell anyone."

"No need." Scott pointed through Thunderbird One's viewport. "There's home."

---F-A-B---

"Here they come," Jeff said as he, Grandma, Tin-Tin, Brains, Kyrano and Santa Claus were standing on the patio in the sun, watching as the two Thunderbirds drew closer. "Are your reindeer all safe, Santa?"

Santa pointed through the patio railing down to the changing rooms. "Rudolph gave me a little trouble, but they're fine."

"Good," Jeff looked up to where Thunderbird One was hovering, coloured lights strobing like Christmas decorations along her length. "We'd better get inside."

They were all waiting in the lounge when the five Tracy boys made their entrance. They were all filthy and tired, but jubilant at what they'd achieved and relieved to finally be home.

"It's so good to see you all again!" Grandma exclaimed wrapping them all in a grandmotherly hug. "It hasn't seemed to be Christmas without my grandsons getting under my feet in the kitchen and with your father moping about. Go and get washed and I'll finish getting Christmas dinner ready. You can tell us everything while we're eating."

"Grandma's Christmas dinner!" John exclaimed. "Now I _know_ it's Christmas! That meal we had in The Mole was close, but not as good as the real thing."

"Yeah!" Alan brightened. "I'm starving! Come on, Fellas!"

Someone cleared his throat. "Before we do…" Scott began, "I made a promise to Jenni Teeasi that I would thank Santa Claus personally for saving her five friends… And I think they weren't the only five people that Santa assisted during this rescue. I believe there's every chance that one or more of us might not have made it home alive without his assistance. " Scott extended his hand. "Thank you for your help, Santa." His family watched as he and Santa Claus solemnly shook hands.

"It was an honour, Scott. An honour and my pleasure."

Virgil was watching his elder brother, who wasn't looking happy. "Why so downcast, Scott?"

Scott shrugged. "I'm being silly."

"Come on," Virgil pressed. "Tell us."

"It just that you…" Scott looked at Virgil and then at the rest of his family. "You all said that you felt great after you'd been touched by Santa Claus. How come I don't feel any different?"

"The simple act of giving is all you need to be touched by Santa Claus," Santa explained. "You and your brothers have given those five children the ultimate gift. You saved their lives and returned them to their families. I didn't have to be physically present for you to feel my touch."

"Oh," Scott responded. He smiled. "I understand."

"Good!" Grandma stated. "Now go and get washed up before the turkey's spoilt!"

---IR---

---F-A-B---

By the time everyone had declared themselves unable to eat another thing, and had retired to the lounge to recover from their meal, the full story of the rescue had been told and retold with suitable embellishments.

"That was a rescue that we'll never forget," Jeff said as he ignored his desk and took a seat beside his mother. "But now it's time to relax. Are you going to play some carols, Virgil?"

Virgil had been itching to get back to his baby grand. "I don't know if I'll be any good. I've missed my last few practises."

"Listen to it!" Gordon exclaimed. "Miss a few days playing and he thinks his skills have vanished. Here…" he held a sheet of music out to his brother. "Try playing that."

Virgil took the piece of paper and read the title. "…_Composed by Randy Brooks._" Then he eyed up the red-head. "We can't do this, Gordon?"

"Why?" Gordon asked. "Don't you think you can play it?"

"I know I can play it. But I'm equally sure that you can't sing it."

Gordon shrugged, used to his family's slurs against his vocal talents. "I'm not singing _it_. I'm singing something else."

"Gordon," Virgil said patiently. "This isn't a good idea."

"Yes, it is," Gordon persisted.

"We have a guest," Virgil reminded him. "It's bad enough that you intend to inflict the pain of listening to you on your family. But please don't expect Santa to have to sit through one of your concerts!"

"He'll enjoy it!"

"I doubt that very much."

Santa Claus had been sitting back in his chair, enjoying the by-play between the two brothers. "Let him be, Virgil," he suggested. "I've heard young Gordon's singing many times, so I know what to expect." He continued on with an air of brave resignation: "I am prepared."

"You might be, but I'm not sure we are," John said as he shifted in his seat beside Santa. "Anyone for earplugs?"

"You won't need them!" Gordon retorted. "Now, is everyone comfortable?"

"We are at the moment, but I think that situation is going to change very, very soon…" Alan said. "Like when you open your mouth."

"Shut yours, Alan." Usually easy going, Gordon was starting to get a little bit fed up by all the negativity. "Trust me and be quiet."

"Me too?" Virgil asked. He shut the lid of the piano.

"Just shut up and play the stupid thing!" Gordon demanded, reopening the piano's lid with a clang. He turned back to his audience. "Ladies and gentlemen… and Virgil. For your listening pleasure…"

"Or not," Virgil interrupted and ducked as he was hit over the head by the notebook.

"…I would like to give you my version of a perennial Christmas favourite." Gordon turned to Virgil. "If you please…"

Virgil decided that a _"and if I don't…?"_ would be ill-advised at this juncture, and played the introduction. The first few notes were the familiar refrain of '_Jingle Bells_', but soon the music changed and Gordon began to sing: frequently straying off key, off tune, and off tempo. Virgil, to the accompaniment of occasional groans from their family, tried to follow his brother's lead until he gave up and reverted to playing the song's original tune, hoping that Gordon might eventually find his way back to something recognisable.

"_Santa got run over by a T-Bird_

_Leaving Tracy Island Christmas Eve_

_You may say there's no such thing as Santa_

_But don't tell Scotty Tracy: he believes._

_Scott had flown home half dozy_

_Cos he hadn't slept for days_

_Was dreamin' of his Christmas dinner_

_Of Grandma's turkey with sauce Lyonnaise._

_If Santa weren't found Christmas morning_

_At the bottom of the reindeer stack_

_We would have had for our Christmas dinner_

_A Thunderbird roasted venison rack._

_Grandma patched up one of Santa's reindeer_

_Scotty ran it over Christmas Eve_

_He slayed the sleigh that had belonged to Santa_

_And all that we could find was reindeer feed._

_Now we're all so glad that Santa_

_Has decided not to sue_

_If he'd taken Jeff for every penny_

_He could've dumped the sleigh;  
and used T.B. Two._

_Scott said the collision wasn't his fault_

_He said he didn't see Santa Claus appear_

_He said there was a bang up above him_

_And then he said it started to rain deer._

_Santa enjoyed a Tracy Christmas dinner_

_On Tracy Island, here on Christmas day_

_You may say there's no such thing as Santa_

_But to Tin-Tin and Kyrano, he's okay._

_Now The Mole served me Xmas dinner_

_A bump as big as a turkey's egg. Owww_

_John tried to have a rock 'n rollin' Christmas_

_And The Mole had a gnaw on Virgil's leg._

_Now Zoomer's feeling better_

_After Scotty had broken all the rules_

_They should never give a license_

_To a guy who says he flies through swimming pools._

_Reindeer got patched up by my Grandma_

_Got a poultice in the infirmary_

_You may say there's no such thing as Santa_

_But to Brains he is a composite of carbon, hydrogen and oxygen and various other molecular substances - biology._

_Santa got run over by a T-bird_

_Leaving Tracy Island Christmas Eve_

_You could say there's no such thing as Santa_

_But ask International Rescue, we believe."_

Gordon took his bows to the grudging applause.

"Ho, ho, ho!" Santa clapped his hands in delight. "Well done, Gordon."

Alan gave his brother a thumbs-up. "Nine out of ten for the song."

"And zero out of 100 for the singing," John added.

"Virgil deserves a prize just for making it sound halfway decent." Scott pointed at his songster brother. "Just be glad that we're celebrating Christmas and I'm feeling generous, otherwise you'd be in big trouble."

"Don't blame me," Gordon grinned. "I got the idea from something Alan said. Besides, you should have seen the first draft: it was terrible."

"So was the final rendition." Scott suppressed a yawn. "What did you say to him, Alan?"

"Don't ask me." Alan held up his hands in surrender. "I swear I didn't have anything to do with it!"

"Oh, yeah?" Virgil asked. "Is that why you're the only one who didn't get a mention?"

Santa Claus laughed again. "Thank you all for your hospitality," he slid off his chair, "but my work is done. It is time I must leave."

"Oh." Disappointed, Jeff got to his feet. "Will we see you again, Santa?"

"See me…? I do not know," Santa admitted. "But we will meet again very soon." He walked over to the patio doors.

"How will you get home?" John asked. "If your sleigh's in pieces…" he looked down over the patio railing. There, beside the swimming pool, was an intact sleigh tethered to ten impatient reindeer. One of them waved its bandaged limb up towards the audience on the balcony.

"If I wasn't seeing this with my own eyes I wouldn't believe it," Alan exclaimed. "Your sleigh was in charred pieces. I saw it! I picked a piece up! How did…" He shook his head as if he was trying to clear it. "Magic."

"Santa," Virgil began uncertainly. "Before you go, there's something I've been wondering… A couple of years ago we were on our way home from a rescue…"

Santa burst out laughing. "My, that was a close call. It was Rudolph's first year with his fake nose. He was still getting used to it and I'm afraid my attention wasn't totally where it should have been. The look on your face when you saw me!" He laughed again. "I take it you didn't tell your family about our near miss?"

Scott looked at his brother with one eyebrow raised. "No, he didn't."

"Now," Santa turned towards the Tracys and their friends. "Before I leave you to enjoy the rest of your Christmas and the opening of your presents, I will leave you one last gift. I will ensure that International Rescue's services will not be needed for at least a week. In fact," the elf's already beaming smile broadened, "I can guarantee you a two week respite. My advice is that you make the most of it."

"Two weeks vacation!" Alan exclaimed. "That means we've got time to really get away for a break and forget about International Rescue!"

"Yeah," Gordon enthused. "Where can we go? Somewhere we can swim every day? Maybe somewhere with tropical beaches?"

"Or maybe not," Scott suggested. "Use your imagination, Gordon!"

"The idea is to go somewhere different," John added. "Somewhere we'll all enjoy."

"I vote for somewhere with snow," Virgil said. "Let's have a genuine white Christmas for a change."

"But Christmas has gone," Tin-Tin said. "It's the 26th of December, remember?"

"It can be Christmas any day," Santa said, "so long as you are able to enjoy your time with family and friends. And now," he bowed, "I will bid you a fond farewell." He bounded down the stairs to his waiting team and climbed into the sleigh. "Merry Christmas!" he waved.

Everyone waved back at him. "Merry Christmas, Santa."

"Have a safe trip."

"Watch out for low flying aircraft."

"And thank you," Jeff added, "for keeping my boys safe."

A glow surrounded the sleigh and stardust filled the air. The sleigh, its occupant, and the ten reindeer levitated off the ground. They did a lap of the courtyard before stopping level with everyone standing on the patio. "I still haven't given you a ride in my sleigh, have I, Scott?" Santa winked. "You've been a good boy and I haven't forgotten your wish. Don't worry, it will happen soon…"

"I…" Scott began, reddening, but with a "Ho, ho, ho," Santa was gone in a flash of light.

For some time after Santa had disappeared, everyone stood in the hot December sun, unwilling to move, somehow feeling that if they were to do so they would break the magical spell that had been cast over them all.

Grandma was the first to go back inside. "It's too warm for a body out there," she stated as she claimed one of the more comfortable seats facing the gift laden Christmas tree. "Who's going to play Santa?"

They took it in turns to hand out the presents, and when they'd finished unwrapping gifts and extending thanks, sat back in quiet contemplation of the events of Christmas Day.

"Virg?" John said. "Back in Puzz you asked Scott something about him preferring your dream to his. What did you mean?"

Virgil chuckled. "He and I had a talk when he was protecting Thunderbird One from the evil clutches of Santa Claus. I was trying to convince him that he was wrong about Santa, and he was trying to convince me that I'd been drugged somehow… Right, Scott…? Anyway, we surmised that there was a possibility that one of us was dreaming. I said that I hoped it was me because I seemed to be enjoying the dream more than he was."

"I think he's the one doing the dreaming at the moment," Jeff said and nodded to where Scott was slouched on the couch. His son, replete with Grandma's cooking, comfortable in the knowledge that his family was safe, and warm in the summer heat, had finally succumbed to the arms of Morphia. His head had fallen forward onto his chest and he was snoring gently.

"Look at him; dead to the world…" John smiled at the sight. "I'm not surprised; not when you consider the amount of sleep he's had over the last few days."

"He doesn't look after himself," Grandma snorted. "He's crashed. I said he would!"

"I'd prefer him to crash in here and not in Thunderbird One," Jeff said.

Alan stretched and yawned. "And I think he's got the right idea. I might hit the sack myself."

"Scott…" Virgil touched his brother on the shoulder. "Wake up and go to bed, Scotty…"

"Let him sleep," Jeff suggested. "He needs it."

"But he'll be more comfortable in his bed," Grandma stated. "I'll get it ready and you boys bring him through."

Scott barely reacted as his brothers removed his shoes, picked him up, and carried him through to his bedroom. He didn't awaken when they laid him on the bed and Grandma tucked his sheets under his chin.

"Something's missing," Gordon whispered. "Hang on a moment." He went to the wardrobe and, standing on a stool, reached to the back of the topmost shelf. He removed a battered white teddy bear; its aviator's helmet patched and embroidered airman's wings almost worn to nothing.

"How did you know he kept 'Wilbur' in there?" John asked.

Gordon grinned, but didn't reply. He placed the bear on Scott's chest and then gently freed his brother's arm from the sheets and placed it over the toy. "There you go, Scotty. Enjoy your flight with Santa." He watched as Scott rolled over onto his side, pulling his teddy bear closer in a hug.

The Tracys tip-toed to the door, stopping only to turn back for one last look at the slumbering man. "Merry Christmas, Scott," Jeff whispered as, closing the door behind them, they left him to his dreams.

Hearing the door click shut, Scott opened his eyes. He smiled and pulled his bear under the sheets before closing his eyes again and nuzzling deeper into his pillow. "Merry Christmas, everyone…"

_The end._

And, finally, a joke of Christmas cracker standard that I did consider using in Virgil's cracker, but decided was not exactly tactful under the circumstances.

_What do you get when you drop a piano down a mineshaft?_

_A-flat minor._

---F-A-B---

_So? Do I believe in Santa Claus? Yes, I do. To me Santa is the warm spirit of friendship and giving that sadly only seems to exist at this time of year. Santa is the symbol of a worldwide festival that has the ability to transcend race, religion, faith and creed. If we could all believe in the ideals that Santa Claus represents then perhaps the world would be a happier, more peaceful place. Perhaps then we could claim that we are all part of International Rescue. An International Rescue that Jeff Tracy and his family and friends would be proud of._

_Merry Christmas_

:-)

_Purupuss_


End file.
